L'Italia di Lovino
by WakaLakaAlchemist
Summary: "Why can't you be more like your brother?" He hears it constantly, yet it still grates at his heart until he can no longer take it. The only solution he sees is death. Contains suicide, Spamano, and some USxUK and GerIta. Angst, has a happy ending.
1. Arrivederci

**L'Italia di Lovino  
Part I  
**

**Characters: **Romano (Lovino), Spain (Antonio), Italy (Feliciano/Veneziano), Germany (Ludwig), America (Alfred), Hungary (Elizaveta), France (Francis), Belgium  
**Rating: **T+  
**Warnings: **Suicide, blood, language  
**Pairings: **SpainxRomano, slight GerIta

* * *

"Why can't you be more like your brother?"

He'd heard it a million times before. He should have been used to it by now, but he still hated it.

Ever since Grandpa Rome had taken Veneziano and left him behind, Romano knew that something had rooted itself within him. Back then, when he was young and rather proud, of course he couldn't see what it was. But with every word of criticism, every degrading comment, he felt it growing, expanding, darkening. Italy is so much cuter, why are you always angry? Again and again.

And then Spain.

When Romano watched him ask Austria for Veneziano, he'd recognized that feeling. When Romano was his second choice for marriage, oh how well he knew it.

It was self-loathing.

The older he got, the more his self-esteem sunk until he was sure it was miles beneath earth's crust. He showed it to no one; it would just make him seem more bothersome. And yet…

Earlier that day, Romano and Spain had gotten into one of their infamous fights. He couldn't even recall what they were arguing about; that was irrelevant. Antonio hadn't noticed Romano was in one of those moods. Romano yelled at him. Spain said something he shouldn't have said. Lovino did the same. But whatever he'd called him, told him, _didn't_ tell him, Spain had said those words, clear and simple.

_Why can't you be more like your brother?_

That was the final blow. He'd heard it enough. All these years, these hundreds of years, he couldn't take it anymore. And from Spain, from Antonio, the person he cared about most, the one Lovino thought understood him, the only person in the world who could…

Romano stared, wide-eyed and unblinking at the moonlight piercing his windowpane. White water spilled into his room, onto his bed, onto the floor. Seeing was making this so much harder. If it were dark, he could imagine this were a dream and drift off into oblivion. The moon was his witness. The moon would tell everyone what happened to Lovino Vargas on March 18, 20XX and the moon would cry for him, mourn for him in a way no one else could.

Tears ran down his pale face. It hurt so much, _oh God _it hurt so much_._ He forced his hands to push harder. _This will all be over soon please please please…_Choking on his gasps, his hands met his stomach and the cool metal touched his innards like poison. And it began to weep, thick red tears escaping Lovino's abdomen. He felt the warm liquid like needles, all over his hot hands and punctured stomach. Coughs racked his small, weakened body violently, blood running down his lips and tears met tears in the clouded, rosy puddle growing beneath him.

He was hated. Pitied. Chastised. Derided. His life was a living Hell, and this was the only escape Romano could find.

"_Ciao, bella mondo…_" a voice rasped into the night.

* * *

He had to apologize.

Antonio felt awful to say the least. He really shouldn't have compared Romano to his brother, it wasn't fair. It's just, what Romano had said (What did he say again?), it really bothered him…Spain shook his head. That was no excuse, especially with what Lovino had replied with.

"You're right."

Then he'd turned and walked out, leaving Spain feeling like he'd just punched a baby. The look on the Italian's face could only be described as absolutely heartbroken—it made Spain want to grab him and pull him into a big hug. So, Antonio decided he would say sorry and they would make up and eat tomatoes together and play with his turtles and…

Smiling to himself at the very thought, Spain rapped on the door of the Vargas home, calling out for Lovino and Feliciano. No one answered. His smile faltered and he dropped his hand.

"Feli is probably at _Alemania_'s house…But where could _mi tomate_ be?" he wondered aloud. He took hold of the doorknob hesitantly and gave it a small turn. It was unlocked.

"Lovi…Are you here? Lovinito?" Spain said. The lights were out. It was night, of course, so maybe he'd gone to sleep. Spain made his way upstairs to Romano's bedroom and frowned when he saw a vague figure lying on the floor. As he knelt down in front of Romano(?), he thought he felt something wet. His eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the darkness, so he reached out and shook his shoulder. Why was he sleeping on the floor?

"Wake up, Lovinito, I'm sorry…" Antonio gently pushed Romano onto his back and saw red. There was so much red. He looked down at his knees—he was sitting in a puddle of blood. His shaking hand ran down Romano's torso until it reached a solid object protruding from his stomach. He wrapped his hand around it and gasped lightly—a knife. There was a knife sticking out of Lovino.

Spain took hold of him and tried to say something, but his voice was lost. He was so confused. He could not comprehend how, or who, or _what_.

Romano's eyes fluttered open slightly, murky and clouded. They focused on Spain, barely, it was so hard. His mouth opened slowly and Spain mentally prodded him to _say something_, to let him know he was okay and he would live, or even call him a "tomato bastard" and laugh at him for falling for this prank. Because that's what it was, right? It had to be, Romano couldn't die.

"I…I lo…" Romano choked, blood pooling in his throat and spilling over his pale lips.

Finally, Antonio found his voice and screamed.

* * *

Germany turned his eyes from Lovino's motionless body to Spain, who looked equally lifeless. He hadn't said a word since Ludwig and Feliciano found him rocking Romano back and forth in his arms, staring blankly at the wall. They'd entered the house, wondering why Spain's car was in the driveway and the lights were out inside, when they heard Antonio shout Lovino's name. Italy had bolted up the stairs, Germany following close behind, wondering why the ditzy Italian never ran that fast while training. So there he was.

And here they were.

A small, not very well-known Italian hospital, so it would be easier to keep their identities as nations a secret. Italy had insisted vehemently that they go to a "big hospital full of super-smart people," but even in a private room, it would be too risky with so many people lurking about in the halls. It wouldn't have made a difference, in any case. Romano was dead.

Dead.

The word echoed in Ludwig's head. It was so…strange. He was used to seeing humans die, that was natural. But nations? That was rare, and it was a tragedy for the rest of them, especially knowing the way Lovino had died.

He had, unfortunately, missed any vital organs, which would have at least killed him sooner. Instead he's passed from massive blood loss—Spain had found him over an hour after he'd stabbed himself. Germany knew the older man probably pinned the blame on his own tardiness, or more likely, on the fight they'd gotten into right before Romano had ended his life.

"Sp—Antonio," Germany said, aware of the nurse taking sheets of linen from a closet nearby. "This isn't your fault. This has to have been a long-term thing. He's had a painful life."

Spain looked up, surprised, and attempted to give Ludwig a small smile. When it didn't seem to be working, he nodded and turned his attention to Feliciano. As expected, he hadn't stopped crying.

"I-it's all my fault…!" he sniffed. "I n-never got to s-say nice things about him…A-and all I did was annoy him…"

Sighing, Ludwig placed a comforting hand on Italy's shoulder, who in turn grasped on desperately to his shirt in a half-hearted hug. His sobs grew louder, and the nurse cast them a sympathetic glance before leaving the room.

_Oh, Lovi looks so peaceful_, Spain thought. _It's like he's sleeping. Sí, that has to be it, he's sleeping. I'll wait here for him until he wakes up…_

* * *

It was way too bright.

He blinked once. Twice. Sitting up slowly, Lovino stared at his surroundings.

Nothing.

So startlingly white and empty, yet it seemed to stretch a million kilometers. Where _was _he?

Was this heaven?

Or…?

"_Lovi?_"

He jerked his head around. Who was there? It sounded like…"...Spain?"

Romano stood cautiously and cocked his head to the side. This was Spain, all right. At least, it _looked_ like Spain. The Conquistador, with the flamboyant hat and all.

Antonio cracked a huge smile. "It _is _you! Only, you're so much older! How did you get so big? Was I really gone that long this time?"

Confused, Lovino said, "Uh…no, I'm not…Well, _you're_ not…You know what? I don't know what's going on. I committed suicide, huge sin, you know? Shouldn't I be in Hell or something? And what the fuck are you doing here, are you some kinda memory?" He stared skeptically at the red-coated brunet, folding his arms. "You're supposed to make me feel guilty, right?"

Spain's smile disappeared. "I thought I told you to watch your language."

"I'm not a kid anymore, I can do whatever I goddamn please!"

"You know…now that you're older, it _is_ different," he said, stepping closer to the elder of the Italian brothers. "You're so cute, Lovi."

"H-hey, what do you think you're doing?"

Antonio placed his hand on the small of Lovino's back, forcing him closer despite his protests. Romano tried pushing away from him, but he was too strong. "Why, Lovi," he replied, "I'm taking what's mine."

Feeling something wet against Spain's clothes, Romano yanked his hands back.

"B-blood?" he panicked, suddenly forgetting Spain's behavior. "Are you hurt?"

"Relax," Antonio placed a small kiss on the top of Romano's head, brushing against a single obnoxious curl and making the younger man shudder. "It's not my blood."

Lovino caught only the wicked smile on Antonio's face before looking down to see a gaping hole in his stomach and fainting.

* * *

The funeral was planned to be small and private. Well, _planned_. Over 100 nations and quite a few world leaders announced they would be coming…discluding Spain. He was, understandably, not his cheery self. During world meetings, he couldn't seem to focus, especially since the topic was mainly what to do about the death of South Italy. His northern brother never spoke—he sat close to Germany, staring at the hands in his lap.

Even America was quieter than usual. Romano had been annoying as hell, but then again, all the nations were in their own way. Everyone was used to having two Italies, and with Lovino gone, it was like waking up with one hand.

"—aly. Italy!"

Feliciano jumped, nearly knocking over his seat. "I-I'm sorry Germany I promise I'll work harder and…oh! I, uh, I…sorry!" All nations stared blankly at Italy, then turned to the one who had addressed him—America.

Alfred cleared his throat. "Well…I was going to ask if anyone has noticed his absence in Southern Italy, but I guess it's not right to push it—"

"N-no, no, it's all right! I want to help out all I can; Romano is my brother after all!" Italy said, waving his hands about frantically. Germany handed him a glass of water, and he took a few noisy sips to calm himself. Everyone exchanged glances awkwardly, and China offered candy to a few countries, who, for once, accepted. Spain, however, had been staring at his watch (tomato-shaped, which wasn't helping his situation) the entire meeting, much to the annoyance of his fellow countries.

"Ve~ Thank you, Germany," Italy smiled sadly at his friend, who nodded and blushed slightly in reply. It was difficult for him to see Feliciano like this—so quiet, earnest, reserved. "Well," Italy continued, looking back to America, "I had to tell Boss, of course. As of now, he's the only one who knows, though other prominent government officials will need to find out sooner or later. I…I don't know what's going to happen to our people though, b-because…because…" Italy trailed off, then burst into tears. Ludwig sighed. Italy had been doing so well, but he couldn't say he hadn't expected the Northern Italian to lose it.

Feliciano dropped into his seat and buried his face in his hands. "I-I'm going to be alone! I don't want to be alone! I can't r-run a whole country by m-myself! R-Romano, _fratello_, come back! P-please, I'm begging y-you!" he cried. Hungary, Germany, and France stood immediately. Italy had gone far beyond losing it.

"Feli, sweetie, please stand up…" Hungary gently pulled on Italy's shoulders, but he would not budge. She and Germany turned to America, who nodded solemnly.

"_Italie, venez, _come; we're going to take you home," France said, placing a hand on Feliciano's back. He still refused to move. Left with no choice, Germany lifted the smaller man into his arms in one swift motion. They left the conference room, Hungary following close behind. France turned to check on his lethargic Spanish friend, only to find his seat empty.

"_Dis donc,_" Belgium said suddenly. "Where's Éspagne?"

Francis groaned in frustration. He had a pretty good idea of the answer to that.

* * *

**A/N: Whooo happy story. Review if you'd like, for it brings joy to my inbox. I told my friends this when they started it, so it's only fair I tell anyone who reads this: It has a happy ending. This story seems awfully cheesy to me…oh well.**


	2. Rammarico

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part II**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia, because if I did Spain would most likely be in it more than Japan. All I own is this highly original (/sarcasm) plot.

**Characters: **Romano (Lovino), Spain (Antonio), France (Francis), Prussia (Gilbert), England (Arthur)  
**A/N: The rating is being bumped up to M next chapter, I hope that doesn't deter anyone.**

* * *

Since Prussia was technically no longer a nation, he felt no need to come to "boring, pointless meetings." Nothing was ever accomplished at said meetings, and Prussia had better things to do—such as bashing the heads of zombies in with an AK-47. That and he was never invited anyway.

Such circumstances forced France to call his cell, which he kept in his back pocket at all times. Gilbert fell out of his chair at the sudden vibration and fumbled to open the damned thing.

"Gott, Francis, what d'you want?" Gilbert growled, irritated at the interruption of his zombie-killing fun.

"Gilbert, this is important." France relayed the day's previous events to the East German, who mumbled an "Uh-huh" or "ach" every now and then.

"Hmm…" Prussia muttered, turning off his television. "Then I guess we'd better go get him."

* * *

"Jesus Christ and Mother of—_merda_, my head fucking hurts!"

Romano had uttered these words before even opening his eyes, feeling like he had a massive hangover. He heard a huff of displeasure above him. His eyes snapped open to discover he was lying down, his head in Antonio's lap.

Lovino squealed (in a very manly way, mind you) and bolted upright.

"Wh-what are you—did you change clothes?" he said, looking the still-seated Spaniard up and down.

"Hm? You like?" Spain stood, tipping his large, feathered hat to Romano. In turn, Romano glared darkly at him. He hated Spain's pirate days just as much as his time as Conquistador, if not more. Not only was there the chance he would never come back, but there was more thievery, pointless killing, and rape. The devout Catholic Lovino was, he could not condone such sinful behavior. He'd had bad experiences with pirate Spain, ones that he would prefer not to relive

Antonio noticed him backing away and sighed, staring up into who knows what. "I really hate it here. It's so empty, ya know? Nothing to do if you're all alone." He turned to Romano. "Look, it's no use trying to ignore me. I'm here, you're here."

"I'll find a way." Romano looked down at his stomach, remembering why he'd passed out in the first place. "What did you do to me…?" he asked softly.

"I didn't do anything," Spain replied. "You did that to yourself."

"No…no, I didn't," he whispered.

"Why, Lovi? Why did you hurt yourself? They miss you, you know. You have people who love you. Whereas I…"

Romano was about to object, but then he recalled that this Spain was a pirate…and he was most likely the only one that had loved him at this time. As Antonio's "huffy little lackey," though, he'd never admitted it. So now, what was Spain saying?

When Romano voiced this question, Spain laughed. "I'm saying, no one loved me, so hey, why don't I just kill myself? That'll sure solve all my problems."

Lovino's eyes widened. Was he mocking him? "No, but…Y-you know, I never hated you…!"

"That's not what you told me."

"I didn't mean it! I was a kid, and I didn't trust anyone! How could I let myself _love_ someone?" Romano protested. His voice was much higher than he would have liked, and it cracked on the word "love." He didn't know why he was admitting this to Spain; maybe he just thought it was time to admit it. Now that he was dead.

Spain did not move.

"I don't believe you."

"What? What is there not to believe?"

"You're not trying hard enough. I changed, didn't I? Or at least, I _will_ change. I'm still a pirate right now. Ah, how confusing…" Antonio rambled on. "But what if I killed myself before then? You wouldn't care, because you hate pirates, right?"

Romano's heart began to race. No. What? No! "_I-idiota!_ I couldn't hate you! I…" his throat was beginning to close. He was tasting blood again. Not again. He couldn't let that get in the way before he told him this time.

But he couldn't speak. So he cried. He cried for his lost love and life and for his brother and for Spain and for his grandfather and for every mistake he'd ever made, every cruel word he'd ever spoken.

"I'm so sorry."

Romano blinked in surprise. His voice. He could speak now? How—no, it didn't matter. "Spain…Antonio…I'm so sorry. I-I don't know, I don't know." He wrapped his arms around himself, fighting off the cold. He didn't want this. He didn't _need_ this. "I want to wake up. I want to go back!"

Silence. Something in the air changed. He heard a click, and felt some bubbly feeling in his chest. Spain took a few steps toward him.

"Lovino," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Romano asked.

"You don't belong here." Spain raised a hand to Romano's face, touching his cheek gently. "You're not dead."

* * *

"Antonio, man…We're cool and all, but are you sure about this?"

Spain ignored Prussia and kept a determined gaze on the cool metal door before him.

"Listen to Gilbert, for once he has a point," France said, resting his chin on Spain's shoulder.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, mon cher."

Antonio set his hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. Prussia put a hand over his, and France did the same. They opened the metal slab separating Spain from the greatest happiness in his life. His _tomatito_, his lackey, his _cari__ñ__o_…

Spain was the first to enter the room. Prussia and France followed cautiously, making sure no one was around.

"It's so damn cold in here," Gilbert hissed.

"The dead don't exactly need heating," France replied.

Antonio searched the individual names on the cabinets, lined up on three walls. There were not a lot of them; this was a small hospital.

"Tonio, seriously, are you _certain_ this is a good idea? I mean, sneaking into the hospital at night to find his…body…" Prussia was keeping watch at the door. "Being in a room full of dead people wasn't in my Friday night plans." This was not what awesome people did. Robbing graves was cool, but this was fucking creepy.

"Oui, Antoine, what exactly are we doing here? I know you wanted to find him, but once you do…What are you going to do?" France asked.

Spain paused in his search. His back was turned to his friends so they couldn't see his expression. Good. He didn't want them to know how nervous he was. Keeping his voice steady, he spoke.

"I'm taking him home."

Prussia's eyes widened while France's narrowed.

"Think about this. _Really_ think. What good is that going to do?" Francis said. "Romano is not coming back, Antonio. Please, get that through your thick skull. I'm sorry."

The room remained quiet. The faint hum of machines roared in Spain's ears. He stood slowly, still not facing Francis and Gilbert.

"You don't understand. I watched him grow up, I raised him, I…I love him…I love him as if he were my real child. Gilbert, how would you feel if Ludwig killed himself over something you did or said?" Spain asked.

"Well Gott, if you say it like that…" Prussia said sheepishly. He sighed, looked out the door, then looked back at Antonio. "Alright. Find him. Quick. Then let's get the fuck outta here."

Spain turned to France, who threw up his arms in defeat. "Majority rules, I suppose. But if we get caught, I was forced into this, _d'accord?_"

"Oh please. You would have done the same for Canada or Seychelles," Prussia jeered. Francis casually flipped him the bird.

_Vargas, Lovino_.

"Here," Spain whispered. He opened the labeled cabinet slowly, fear of seeing a skeleton or rotted corpse flooding his mind. But it was just Romano. Quiet, tranquil Romano. Spain smiled—rarely were those words used in the same sentence. His face was so sweet, and oddly, the fact that he wasn't yelling at Antonio for disturbing his eternal sleep was disappointing. It was too quiet, and he missed the shouting, the hitting, the laughing, the awkward smiles, the occasional hugs where Lovino tried to hide the fact that he was hugging back, but Spain felt it and said nothing to keep him happy… "_Querido...oh_, _Dios, Lovinito_…" And for the first time in centuries, Spain allowed himself to cry.

* * *

"Damn it, Tonio, this kid is heavy! Why do _I_ have to carry him?"

"You're used to carrying bodies, aren't you?"

"…That was low, Francis."

Spain stayed out of his friends' bickering and focused on getting his keys out of his pocket. He dropped them when the automatic porch lights flickered on—he still wasn't used to that—but managed to get the front door open. He nearly had a heart attack when he found England sitting on a large red armchair, legs crossed, facing the door.

"Let's see. One," Arthur tapped a finger on his palm, "You break into a hospital at night. Two, you go into the morgue and _take out a body_. Three, you carry the body back home to do God knows what." England raised an eyebrow. "I'll most likely regret this, but what do you have to say for yourselves?"

A long silence fell over the house until Prussia spoke.

"Oh, a morgue? _That's_ what it's called?"

England buried his face in his hands. "Good God, you three are idiots."

"How did you know what we did? No, how did you get into Antoine's house?" France asked.

"Th-that's none of your business!" England sputtered, folding his arms.

Prussia took a step forward. "What's it to you, anyway? You didn't even care about Lovi—" Spain stuck his arm out in front of him, his visage marked by nothing but grief and seriousness.

"Please, England. You can…you can see ghosts, can't you?" he asked.

"Of course I can, but that's—"

"Can you see him?"

Arthur sighed and leaned forward in the chair, his hands clasped together in front of him as if in prayer. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk about. He obviously had regrets, I won't go any further than that, but I have yet to see his wandering spirit. I figured it would either be here or in Italy, but I just didn't sense it until I visited him in the hospital. I couldn't find it…outside of his body, that is. Spain…It's weak, but," England glanced at Lovino, held securely in Gilbert's arms. "Romano's spirit is still in his body."

* * *

**A/N: Ohoho bet you didn't see that coming. Or maybe you did. I wouldn't know. Sorry for making everyone sad…One of the genres is angst, after all. See you next time…same bat time, same bat place. Love you all, and please review if you'd like!**


	3. Menzogne

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part III**

**Rating: **R for safety? I'm not changing the rating of the entire story for this one short scene that isn't even descriptive.  
**Warnings: **Language, blood, non-explicit sex  
**A/N: I basically spent last week doing nothing, but managed to finish this yesterday. So here you are.**

* * *

Prussia nearly dropped Romano. All eyes turned to the Italian, unsure of what to think.

"So is he…alive?"

England shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not sure how it works with nations. His soul may be refusing to leave his body on account of Southern Italy still existing or…" Spain's eyes brightened. "Don't get too hopeful. This doesn't necessarily mean he'll just wake up. He's in a coma-like state, and with us, our hearts stop beating and we stop breathing at that point. The doctors in the hospital didn't know that, of course. He could still possibly pass while in a coma."

Before Spain could digest all of this, Prussia said, "Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

"I just remembered last night. Spain, in our pirating days, had fallen into this state once. I thought I'd actually killed him until he woke up screaming that he had to feed Romano."

Francis blinked in confusion. "I never heard about this." Spain looked equally confused.

"I don't remember that."

"I never felt the need to tell you."

"Okay, this is jim fucking dandy and all, but can I _please_ put Lovi down? I can feel my arms falling out of their goddamned sockets," Gilbert whined.

England waved him off and stood. "We'll just have to wait and see."

They followed Prussia to Spain's bedroom, where he deposited Romano on the bed. "Do you want us to leave?" he asked.

"It's up to you," Spain replied flatly.

His two friends gave him a pat on the back and some encouraging words before walking out the door. Antonio expected England to leave as well, but instead he stayed still and stared at Romano. Seeing Arthur watch Lovino lie defenseless irritated him somehow, so he stepped in front of him.

"Do you still sense it?"

"Yes. But Spain, I want you to remember something: Don't do anything stupid. I'm serious. Don't bother him, you could disturb his spirit," Arthur said.

Spain frowned. "But what if—"

"I'm glad you had Prussia carry him, because had it been _you…_Well, I don't know. You caused his grievance and heartbreak, so his spirit could have fled right then and there." Antonio shot him a glare that said, _Thanks a lot, you heartless pest._ "I'm only telling the truth," Arthur shrugged.

Antonio's gaze softened. "Fine. I get it, but…why are you helping me?"

England looked away. "I've…said some terrible things to people that I regret dearly, and I never think of the consequences." Although it was nothing compared to Spain's situation, he recalled when he'd once commented on America's eating habits, which led to the younger going insane trying to diet. "I feel awful every time I think about these things. I tried to imagine worse, but…I couldn't. Spain, I…I'm truly sorry."

Suddenly, Spain pulled him into a back-breaking hug.

"Wh-what are you doing, you bloody nancy? I—" he paused when Antonio broke away. "Alright, I'll let you get away with that this time. But don't do it again!" England left him alone, and Spain wondered what good fortune had spared him a beating. Then he felt his face.

A smile. He was genuinely smiling. "_Muchas gracias, Inglaterra._"

He turned towards Lovino and almost reached out for him, but drew back quickly as if he'd been bitten by a snake. A violent, sarcastic, moody, adorable snake. _I can't disturb him, that's right. This is going to be hard…Oh, _cariño, _why are you so tempting?_

* * *

That night, Spain had dreams. Strange, awful dreams that he could not explain and made him wish he'd never fallen asleep.

A room full of blood, splattered against the wall the ceiling the floor, and Spain standing there staring, helpless, as Lovino smiled at him and sliced his stomach over and over, painting the chamber a brilliant red and pulling out a rope of intestines to smear his paint across the walls…

Antonio had woken up in a cold sweat and had to run to the bathroom to feed his dinner to the toilet. Brushing his teeth to get rid of the rancid taste, he looked into the mirror. He was an absolute mess. This was the first time he'd attempted to sleep since…then. Since then. It all started "since then". Everything changed back then; that was when it began, that was when it ended. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, exhausted.

Spain walked back into his room and sat in the rickety wooden chair he'd placed next to his bed (so he could be there if Romano really was alive).

He drifted off into sleep again hesitantly.

This dream was different. It was dark, but Spain could hear strange sounds in the other side of the room. He saw a window letting in hints of moonlight, and found that this was Lovino's room.

"_Ah…Antonio…_"

Spain jumped. It wasn't often that Romano called him by his real name, and it usually meant he was in trouble. But the way he'd said it this time…Antonio felt his face heat up.

"Lovinito…?" Spain called out, but he was not heard.

That was when he saw it. A man was leaning over Romano, kissing down his collarbone, slowly, gently, lovingly. Spain felt his heart plummet until he realized something—that man was _him_. What was he _doing?_ This wasn't right, why was his touching his _tomatito_ like that?

Lovino wrapped his arms around the other Spain's neck, his eyes clouded with not death, but lust. When Spain pressed into him, he let out a breathless, shuddering moan that sent all of Antonio's blood rushing south…

...He woke, again, sweating and gasping. Running off to the bathroom once more but for different reasons, one though repeated itself in his mind: _What the hell was that about?_

Once he'd calmed himself, he sat back on the toilet seat and decided he should stay away from Lovino's body for a while. What else could he do? These dreams could have been a bad omen. Spain would never purposefully hurt his friend (although now he was too ashamed to call him as much), but if that happened in his dreams, who knew what would happen in reality?

The last dream would not leave his thoughts, much like the stubborn blush on his cheeks. He knew what had happened in it, he wasn't _that_ dense. He'd made love to Romano. It was strange to think about.

Oh yeah, Romano had died a virgin, hadn't he?

_So…Is that what this dream was about?_ Spain thought. _I let _mi querido_ die without experiencing sex?_

For now he would let himself think that, because if he believed he'd only dreamt it as a regret for not being able to screw Lovino, he would hope someone would use some of those torture devices from the inquisition on him. It was a horrible thought, and Spain prayed that it wasn't true. He'd never thought of Romano as an object like that, so now was definitely not the time to start.

The next day, when France came to visit, Spain informed him of both dreams. The blond would have laughed if the situation was not so serious. They reached an agreement that Spain should be able to stay with Romano, as long as someone else was in the room. When the time was approaching for them to leave for the world conference, Antonio insisted on staying, but Francis shook his head. "You need to be the one to tell them that the funeral is off for now," he said.

Spain looked back at Romano, lying in bed quietly. He had the urge to bring him with them, but he knew that was most likely an awful idea and it wouldn't exactly fly with all of the nations. So Antonio left a note on the desk next to his bed, just in case Lovino happened to wake up, and the two Europeans were off.

* * *

"So, um…Are you saying…he's alive?"

Germany scratched his head and glanced down at the Italian by his side, who looked like he was about to explode from happiness.

"We don't know for sure yet," England said. "His spirit is still there, so it's either a coincidence or he's simply in a coma. It's hard to tell. But for your sake," he blushed and looked away as an ecstatic Feliciano cheered and flung himself at Germany's neck, "I hope it's the latter."

Italy paused in showering Germany with affection to stare at Arthur in confusion. "Ladder? What do ladders have to do with anything?" His face then brightened once again and he nearly shouted, "I know! Is it some sort of ritual to bring _fratello_ out of his co—mmnf!"

"Shh!" England held a finger to his lips and released his hand from Feliciano's mouth. He brought his voice down to a whisper. "Spain, France, and Prussia are the only other ones who know this. I understand that you're overexcited and there's not much I can do about that, but don't spread it around. If Romano has enemies who hear of his…situation…" Italy and Germany nodded slowly in understanding. It didn't even have to be an enemy—some crazy, bored idiot could wonder what it was like to kill a nation. Or at least half of one.

"I just thought it would be important to tell you, Italy, and I figured I'd tell Germany while I was at it since you'd most likely run your mouth anyway." Arthur gazed around the halls outside the conference room. He had called them here an hour before the meeting began, stating it was an emergency concerning Lovino. The building was deserting before conferences, as nations attempted to be as late as possible.

"But wait…isn't he still in the hospital?" Ludwig asked.

England rolled his eyes. "He _was_. Until Antonio, that French bastard, and your failure of a brother snatched him."

"They did _what?_ That's…Is the hospital looking for them?" Germany choked.

Italy laughed and latched himself onto Ludwig's arm. "Silly Ludwig! An Italian hospital that small would just search the building and maybe their property for a day or two before giving up. They'll probably report he was stolen by the mafia or something!"

He was rewarded with a glare from Germany, who thought, _How can you be so happy about this? _Feliciano didn't seem to get the message.

"So, so, where did they take him, huh?" Italy asked, bouncing up and down. England had no idea where he got all that energy.

"Romano is at Spain's house. They've left him safely in his bed," Arthur explained.

Feliciano's expression darkened. "He's in Spain's bed? Where is Spain sleeping?" Germany turned towards him, dumbfounded.

Coughing at the implication of this statement, England shook his head innocently. "As far as I know, he's been sleeping on a chair next to the bed. He's bloody stupid and oblivious, but I'm sure the git wouldn't stoop so low as to sleep with a dead body. And his 'henchman,' no less!" Italy seemed to relax at this, and the gentle smile returned to his face.

"Hey, Iggy, what's got you blushing so early in the morning?"

England flinched at that dreadful nickname and the all too well-known voice it was spoken from. What in God's name was America doing here an hour before the meeting? He never got the chance to voice this question however, as the young man had started chatting with Italy and Germany.

"Are you guys having some sort of private meeting or something?" he tilted his head to the side in a way that England absolutely did _not_ find cute.

Italy practically skipped to America and grabbed his hands, enclosing them in his smaller, frailer ones.

"Ve, America, I'm so glad you're here early! You get to hear the good news! Romano—" Ludwig covered Feliciano's mouth as quickly as he could. The latter jumped in surprise, and then Germany felt something warm, wet, and soft against his palm. He jerked his hand back and glared as the Northern Italian giggled. They both turned to England expectantly. "Um…England…is it okay to tell America?"

Arthur sighed. As expected, the talkative Italian had blabbed. It was inevitable. But…he supposed it was better if Alfred knew. Sure, he was an annoying, loud, self-confident oaf, but he knew how to lead and keep things quiet at the same time. With how much he talked, it may have seemed that he was open about everything, but the man was good with maintaining secrets when it came to life-or-death situations—especially when it meant someone else's life.

"Look, America…There's something important we need to tell you. It's about Lovino," England started. Alfred sensed the urgency in his tone and dropped his cheerful demeanor.

Once England had fully explained the situation, America agreed to withhold the information for the time being.

"Spain is going to cancel the funeral, and I'm counting on him to come up with an excuse. We can't exactly lower Romano into the ground if he's still alive. I'm sure he'd be less than happy to wake up six feet under. Just go along with it and don't question him, all right? God knows why, but people do try to follow your example. That should work in our favor. America…" England stared directly into ocean-blue eyes. "I hope I can trust you with this. This concerns life. Perhaps an entire nation's life." Three pairs of eyes turned to Feliciano, who fidgeted under their gaze. No one knew how the entirety of the Repubblica Italiana would change with the disappearance of its southern personification.

America did not like to lie. But this was important; it went far beyond truths and lies. Italy had been in so much pain for the past week and avoided anything that reminded him of his fratello—including pasta. Yet this small possibility, this thin, withered thread of hope…he was happy, with just that. Imagine if he were able to wake one morning to see Romano smiling at him? Well, maybe not smiling.

He had to. And honestly, it wasn't a hard decision.

"Okay," America nodded vigorously. "And as the hero, I'll do everything in my power and more to help!"

England could only snort and attempt to hide his smile as Italy danced around them like a maniac.

* * *

**A/N: FFFFF yeah it's late; I'm sorry. This started out disturbing and ended cheerfully. What. And rereading Spain's first dream almost made me gag. I'm already about halfway done with the fourth chapter, so I **_**would**_** say that shouldn't take too long, but I'm going to New Orleans next week. I'm excited ****8D**

**Review to your heart's content and thanks for reading~**


	4. Esposizione

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part IV**

**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Language, OC-ness  
**A/N:** **Somehow my OC!Philippines snuck in here…I wasn't even planning to use him. Yes, my Philippines is a boy. I'm not making him a girl just because there aren't enough girls in the series. His name is Carlito Agbayani and I want him as my little brother C: Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

A sharp pain pierced his arm, and he nearly cried out until he realized it was from his own nails. He'd have to get those trimmed…

Spain switched from squeezing his arms to pulling at his tie to shuffling the papers in front of him but finally settled on gnawing at his fingertips. Denmark was still going on about the joys of occasional brawls (and by occasional, he meant once or twice a day), and the world conference was coming to another uneventful close. They had planned to let Spain speak five minutes before closing, a time when no one bothered to argue or even disagree. Everyone was tired, hungry, and probably ready for a restroom break.

Feeling the anticipation push against his throat, Antonio swallowed it down. He couldn't look nervous while he was doing this. He was excited by the possibility that Romano would be waiting for him when he returned home, confused and crying and running into Antonio's open arms…

"You're drooling."

Spain looked up, startled, to stare into a youthful, tanned face. "Huh?"

"I said you're drooling, _estupido_!" Philippines hissed lowly from the seat at his right. Antonio quickly wiped his face and turned to the island nation for approval. Carlito nodded quizzically and looked back at America—he was staring at them with a gaze that was much like the Philippines's a moment ago. He broke into a light smile when he locked eyes with Carlito, who grinned widely and gave an excited wave. America waved back and made a move to stand.

"Looks like Kuya's gonna speak again," Philippines whispered to Spain unnecessarily. Spain kept his eyes on Alfred and said nothing. Philippines sighed. Romano used to always sit directly to the right of Spain at these meetings ever since Italy had claimed the seat next to Germany, and the Southern Italian refused to sit near them. The nations had essentially decided to remove one seat from every conference room with Lovino gone, leaving Antonio by his former colony. Carlito had never liked Spain in the first place—he'd treated him poorly, he was weird and not to mention strangely affectionate toward children—but he hoped to at least keep him company at meetings. Spain had loved Romano the most out of all of his territories and he'd lost him. Of course, Carlito was not jealous. America had been the big brother he needed to make up for it. He just felt genuine sympathy towards Spain, but Spain wasn't responding. Oh well. He'd tried.

"Thanks for that, Denmark. It was, ah…"

"A waste of time?" Norway muttered loudly enough for most to hear. Denmark gave him a mock-wounded look and took to poking him in the side repeatedly.

Alfred shrugged and continued. "Yeah, basically. Anyway, our fun-loving Spain has something important to say, so everyone shut up and listen!"

Carlito, along with most of the other nations in the room, watched curiously as Antonio stood. When was the last time Spain had bothered getting up in front of everyone to announce something?

"Gracias, América." Spain cleared his throat. What could he say? He hadn't exactly planned this. He glanced at England, who looked like he may very well murder him. Then it hit him. It was the simple, honest truth. "The funeral is off for now. For Lovino, I mean." Before anyone could ask, he added, "I know I said I wasn't coming, but I couldn't just let them drop him in a grave without me there to bear witness. I…I don't think I can handle watching…_that_…yet. It's been postponed. I'm sorry if that has inconvenienced anyone's schedules. I just…want to hold onto him for a little longer." He hadn't meant to let that last bit slip out, but everyone nodded in understanding. A smile twitched at the corner of Germany's mouth and Italy gave him a thumps-up.

He was golden.

* * *

Well, _that_ had gone well. No one wanted to see Romano or question the cancelling of the funeral, and boy, was America glad.

That is, until he felt a small tug on his jacket.

"Kuya, Kuya, what's going on?"

"Heya, Carlito. What do you mean?" America ruffled his dark hair, deciding to play it innocent.

"I mean, what's with Spain suddenly _talking_? He hasn't spoken since Romano…you know… and now suddenly he's announcing the funeral's off? It's strange, isn't it?" Philippines asked, staring up at America in confusion.

Now he had to lie to Carlito? England so owed him for this. He could plainly see why it was a bad idea to tell Philippines about Romano—the kid liked to gossip. But still…

Alfred groaned and waited until everyone had cleared the halls. "Phili," he gripped the boy's shoulders lightly, "I'd like to tell you what's going on—really—but I can't. It's better if as little people as possible know. Just wait a while, and you'll see, okay?" He gave his little brother a quick hug before turning to leave. Romano's death had really made America sentimental towards those close to him. Carlito nodded slowly, disappointed, though he trusted Alfred's judgment.

Before he left, America turned to say one last thing: "And don't even _think_ about trying to milk it out of Spain!"

Philippines laughed and followed his kuya out of the building.

* * *

Romano did not understand, and honestly, with all the shit he'd been through, he didn't think he _wanted_ to understand.

"What do you mean I'm not dead? I killed myself! I lost like, five litres of blood!" he cried. The bubbling in his chest was expanding, warming his abdomen and tickling his throat.

Spain smiled softly and placed his hand flush against Lovino's chest. "Just wait."

His vision began to blur. Romano looked down to the hole in his chest– It was glowing white and expanding. A panic began to build up and his breath quickened. Slowly turning his eyes upward, he was about to yell at the Spaniard when he realized he was lying down…in Spain's bed. In Spain's room. He sat up quickly and was rewarded with a splitting headache.

"Lovi…"

Romano blinked. Antonio was seated in an old wooden chair by the side of his bed, his arms crossed on the sheets and his head resting upon them. He was asleep, a single tear trailing down his taut face. He looked so…_pale. _It was if he were a human who had aged twenty years. Lovino's chest tightened.

"S-Spain…" He didn't know how he'd gotten here. Was he on Earth again, or was this another illusion? Either way, he didn't care. Spain was right there by his side, the Spain he knew and had grown to love.

And then he was moving. He tried to grab Antonio's shoulders, shake him, wake him up, but something was holding him back.

"You can't."

Romano shifted his gaze to the other side of the bed. Spain, the pirate, had somehow made his way behind him. He had a tight grip on Lovino's arms.

"Let go of me, you bastard! I want to see him! I want to talk to him, I want…!" He thrashed violently in Spain's arms, crying uncontrollably until he grew exhausted. Spain pulled him closer and held him as his tears began to slow. Between sniffs and hiccups, Lovino whispered, "I want to be with him…"

Antonio smiled and buried his nose in the younger man's hair. "I know," he said softly. Romano closed his eyes and leaned into him.

_Click._

His eyes snapped open. He was disappearing again. He opened his mouth to protest, but Spain clenched his jaw shut. The last thing he saw before slipping away completely was the sleeping Antonio beginning to stir.

* * *

"Come on, Lovi, let me explain!"

"…"

"Oh, don't give me that!"

Romano snorted. "Not like you don't deserve it." He crossed his arms and scowled. The bastard had somehow brought him back to life, only to have him disappear again. Needless to say, he was a little bitter. They were back in the white abyss—the last place Romano wanted to be.

Pirate Spain stopped pacing and sat down next to the irritated Italian. "Can't you at least let me explain?" Lovino said nothing, so he took this as his cue to continue.

"I let you see him. You understand that, right?" he started. Lovino flinched visibly. "But that's it. That's all I can do, and I'm pretty damn tired from it, too." He stretched his arms out in front of him as if to emphasize his point. "Lovi, I really would like for you to go back to your normal life, but it's not within my power. All I could do was show you."

"…Show me what?" Romano mumbled.

Antonio smiled lightly. At least he was paying attention. "To show you how freakishly in love with you I am," he deadpanned.

For the most part, Romano's reaction was fairly predictable—pause for a few seconds to digest the words, turn red as a ripe tomato, widen eyes to an alarming size, jump back in shock/fear/embarrassment.

"What the _fucking hell_ are you talking about, you perverted son of a bitch?" he shrieked.

Spain winced but held his ground. "You're supposedly dead," he stated.

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "No shit, Sherlock. What does that have to do with—" Antonio shoved a gloved hand over his mouth, silencing him.

"_Dios,_ can't you go _one minute_ without insulting someone? I'm not done," Spain hissed. The Italian shivered beneath him, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Hey, don't cry, I'm not gonna hurt you. Just don't interrupt me, okay?" he said in a softer tone. Romano nodded his head frantically and the smile returned to the pirate's face. "Now, as I was saying…Everyone thinks you're dead, right? And you've been gone for around a week. So why would you be in my house?"

Romano blinked a few times as Spain released him. "What…what did he do?" he sputtered.

"He took you out of the hospital and cancelled the funeral, Lovi. He couldn't bear being away from you," Spain nodded matter-of-factly.

"Oh…" Romano managed to choke out. This new realization was strange, unexpected, and not to mention highly disturbing…But Romano knew Spain well enough to know he didn't have any ulterior motives. No matter how creepy it was, it somehow made Romano really…_happy_.

"He just wanted to be around you, Lovi. And you tried to take that away from him," Antonio continued.

A small shockwave ran through Romano's body, and his eyes lowered to the ground in shame. _He wanted me to be more like Feliciano. He's always so cheerful around him too…If he really cared about me that much, why would he say that? _he thought.

"'Why can't you be more like your brother?'"

Romano froze. Again, that same feeling began to tear at him, that feeling of disappointment and loneliness—

"Empty words, Roma."

Lovino turned his gaze to the older man, confused. "What are you talking about?" he asked in a shaken voice.

"He didn't mean it. He was taken over by his emotions, just as you were. You know that. Do you even remember what you said to make him respond like that?" Romano shook his head wordlessly. "Try," Spain prompted. He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the memory back into his aching head…

* * *

**A/N: Due to a certain friend's pushiness (you know who you are), the Philippines will be making another appearance and will actually be an important part of this story. Now that I think about it, if I hadn't been planning to use him again, his part in this chapter would seem kind of random…**

**Sorry this was so late. Please review if you get the time~**

**Translations:  
**_Estupido – _stupid (Yes, this is Spanish, but it's also Tagalog)  
_Kuya – _big brother (What Philippines calls America, due to their very friendly current relationship and the time the United States ruled over them—which they didn't like at first)


	5. Infiltrazione

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part V**

**Rating: **T  
**Warnings:** Language  
**A/N: Yeah I just made up their whole argument on the spot. Something pointless that ends up badly—that was the plan. Pirate!Spain is just trying to help :I**

**Oh my goodness: FFFFF I have no idea. Maybe, if people like backbone!Spain enough. He is quite the charmer.**

**WindStar72: THAT'S OUR SON RITE THAR. He's always handy.** ಠ_ಠ **YES YOU ARE AND I LOVE YOU FOR IT. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Derp.**

* * *

"_Lovi, I'm so glad you came over!"_

"_Whatever. My brother was out with that potato bastard, and I didn't really have anything to do."_

"_So you were lonely~?"_

"_Sh-shut up, I'm hungry!"_

_A sigh. "Aren't you always? I haven't made anything yet and I forgot to go to the market—"_

"_Wait, what do you mean, 'Aren't you always?'"_

_Spain shrugged sheepishly. "You know, you always eat so much, and I worry about you." A sharp glare had shut the Spaniard up._

"_Are you calling me fat?" _

"_Of course not, Lovinito! I would never!"_

"_Then why would you worry? Are you afraid I'm going to eat all your goddamn food like some pig?" _

"_There's no need to curse, Lovi! That's not why I worry, but, well…I'm kind of short on money anyway, so—" _

"_So _that's _it? I'm not worth your money?"_

"_Don't even start with that; you know that's not true!"_

"_Then why do you make feasts for other guests, but get all stingy with me?"_

"_Well, those guests are kind of important—"_

"_I'm not important?"_

"_That's not what I meant! _Maldita sea_, Romano, why do you always have to be so pessimistic?"_

_Romano had snorted at that. "No, no, Spagna, I get it. I'll just leave, because obviously you don't want me here. And you know what? I don't even know why I bother coming in the first place! I hate it here, and I can't stand you!" He was not about to cry in front of Spain. Not when he was trying to be strong. But…_

"_Romano…Why can't you just listen to me? You never do! You make an argument out of nothing, you're lazy, you make a mess of the place, you hit me for no reason, and you never appreciate anything I do!" He was shouting now, but so was Romano._

"_I hate_ _you!"_

"_God, Romano, why can't you be more like your brother?"_

_A long silence. Both nations filled with hurt and regret. Standing. Staring. But…_

"_You're right."_

**. . .**

Idiotic. It was all so stupid. That may have been one of the most pointless arguments they'd gotten into, and all he had bothered to remember was one line. And he'd killed himself over that.

_I hate you!_

But how many times had Romano said that to Spain in his lifetime? How could he deal with that?

"It's because I love you."

Spain pulled Romano's tear-stained face to his shoulder. "I love you enough to forget about it, hoping that some of my love will get through to you and you'll love me back."

Lovino cried. Maybe more than ever before, pearls of clear regret soaking Antonio's red jacket. Because that was a stupid thing to say, but it was one of those many stupid, naïve things Spain said that made Romano love him so much.

"Idiot…bastard…"

"_Te amo, _Lovi."

He clenched onto Spain's coat weakly, sobs racking his body. "D-dammit…I…I…"

"_Shhh…_" Antonio whispered, patting his head. "Save that for _your_ Spain."

They sat in a comfortable silence before Spain cleared his throat nervously. "Ah…He took you out of the hospital because he wanted to be with you, but um…The funeral was cancelled because he kind of knows you're still alive."

Lovino rammed his head into Antonio's chin before storming off.

* * *

Alfred really couldn't blame him for being curious. He was just that kind of nation.

Finally having made it to Spain's house, Carlito collapsed against the brick wall. The plane ride had been long and expensive (he'd convinced China to loan him a bit of money since he was curious about the situation as well), the cab driver obviously disapproved of such a "young boy" being out alone so late at night and probably thought he was a runaway, and he'd had to use a map and ask for directions to get to Antonio's house. The driver refused to drive him out of city limits, and Spain lived more in the country (presumably to grow his tomatoes). He hoped this would be worth all the trouble.

He ignored the insistent growling in his stomach and stood carefully. When was the last time he'd eaten? It was well past midnight, and he hoped Spain would be asleep. He felt guilty about blatantly ignoring America's warning, but it wasn't like he was planning to ask Spain directly. Carlito would infiltrate his house, look for evidence, and…_And what? Find Romano's body in a closet?_

Philippines shivered involuntarily and made his way to a window at the side of the house. The curtains were open, and with the help of a full moon, he found this window to lead into the kitchen. _Perfect. _To either his great fortune or maybe Spain's stupidity, the window was unlocked. He pushed it open and entered the house without incident. He'd been fairly lucky up to this point, so his suspicions grew. The thought of sneaking around like a spy was exhilarating, and what if he got caught? Now shivering in excitement, he tiptoed into the carpeted hallway and attempted to suppress his laughter. A sudden flash of red stopped him cold.

That was…Prussia? What was he doing here? He was making his way down the stairs muttering something about the lack of beer. Carlito turned his head rapidly, looking for a place to hide, but he couldn't move at this point without the albino hearing him. _Well, crap…And this was going so well!_

Prussia froze at the second to last step and peered at him, confused. Minutes seem to pass before he finally spoke.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Carlito flinched at the harshness of his tone, but he supposed being in someone's house uninvited didn't usually warrant friendliness.

"Er…I'm…a dream! I'm just a part of your dream, and I've been sent to protect you! Now, uh, go back upstairs, there's a monster down here that's gonna eat you or something."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Okay, so maybe he wasn't buying it. "Nice try, kid, but I've been up all night. You look familiar…some Asian country, right?" Carlito shifted under his gaze uncomfortably.

"Well…Yeah, technically. I mean, I don't hang out with them really, except for China, but that's for trade and stuff—"

"_Now_ I remember! You're that kid who's always hanging around America! The Philippines, right? Heh, you're pretty cute!" Prussia laughed, reaching down and patting Carlito's head roughly. Carlito did not particularly like the height difference between the two of them.

He jumped back a few feet and placed his hands on his hips. Grinning, he said, "I'm not cute! I'm a spy, and I'm here to infiltrate the enemy base!" Gilbert gave him a blank look. "…Or something…" he faltered. "Anyway, you're Prussia, right? What are you doing here?"

Prussia shrugged. "Someone has to watch Tonio while he—I-I mean, I just decided Tonio missed my awesome presence so I paid him a visit!" he laughed nervously.

"At midnight?" _Hm…suspicious…_

"Ja, you know, he gets lonely at night without Lovino there to—"

"Don't go any further than that, man."

"That's not what I meant! Christ, you're a dirty-minded kid! What are you, twelve?"

Carlito huffed in annoyance. "Fourteen! And that's only my appearance anyway. Spain had control of me for like, three hundred years a long time ago, remember?" Prussia seemed to ponder this for a moment, giving the Filipino a chance to slip past him and run up the staircase.

"Hey! You can't go up there!" Gilbert hissed before running up after him. Carlito turned a corner at the top and sprinted.

"Why not?" Philippines whisper-shouted over his shoulder. He had no idea where he was going or what he was looking for—all he knew was that Prussia, Spain, America, and probably others were keeping a secret from the other nations. Based on Prussia's reaction, the secret was upstairs, and Carlito was determined to find out. He stopped at the end of one hall where it split in two directions and took a right.

"Because I said so! Now get back here, you little brat! You're not cute anymore!" Carlito stuck his tongue out at him (Maybe that was a _little_ cute—So Prussia liked cute things, what was wrong with that?) and stopped in the middle of a long hallway. Before him stood a large, burgundy door. He'd been to Spain's house only once before and faintly recalled this reddish door. He threw it open, hoping it was the right room.

Having been in the dark for at least half an hour, his eyes were fully adjusted, but he still didn't quite understand. He saw Spain sitting in a chair…and he was leaning over—a person, was it?—lying in the bed, but the sheets over their chest were not rising and falling the way they should…

Oh.

_Oh._

...

...What?

"So, um…I guess you've found out, huh?" Prussia stepped up behind him, sighing in defeat.

Carlito looked from Spain to Prussia and back, his mouth agape. Finally he turned to the elder German with a sincere look on his face. "I always knew he was a pervert."

**. . .**

What had woken Spain was Prussia's obnoxious outburst of laughter, leaving him vaguely wondering, _What could he possibly be laughing at? _What had caused Spain to jump out of his chair and stare wide-eyed at the doorway was a young boy's voice spewing profanities.

"Jeez, that's so gross! What were you…I mean, fucking hell, why is Romano _in Spain's bed?_ And what's so funny? Don't laugh, he'll wake up and rape us or something!" Carlito swatted at Gilbert's chest, but he ignored the younger boy and wiped away jovial tears.

He shook his head once he could breathe and grinned at Antonio, who was giving them a look of mixed confusion and horror. "Gil…Wh-what is he—"

"Man, Tonio, this kid's a riot! What did you do to him while he was your colony?"

"I didn't—"

"Don't answer that. Anyway, I caught 'im sneaking around downstairs—"

"Like a ninja," Carlito nodded matter-of-factly.

"—and he flew right by me 'cause…I was probably half-asleep or something. Yeah. That's it. A-anyway, don't blame me for how easy you made it for a teenager to break into your house," Prussia said.

Antonio sighed and rested his face in his palm. "Sí, I probably should have locked the doors…"

"Doors? The doors were open? Well shit, I came in through a window."

Spain glanced at his clock. 1:17. It was way too early for this.

* * *

**A/N: FAIL CHAPTER IS FAIL. AND SHORT. I'm sorry. So I've drawn Carlito plenty of times and I know how he interacts with certain nations, but honestly I wasn't sure how to write him into this situation. I did what I could. Please review, I love hearing from you guys! Thanks so much for reading my story!**


	6. Malato

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part V**

**Rating: **T  
**Warnings:** Language, switches randomly from country to human names. I don't know if that actually bothers people, but either way.  
**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Derp.  
****THANK YOU, SandStar72, FOR CONTINUOUSLY HELPING WITH THIS STORY.**

**School. It has begun. First day? AWFUL. I had the most homework I had all week, and I don't just mean those piles of medical/plagiarism/agreement forms we have to sign. I stayed up until 11:30 getting all of that done, as well as getting all of my supplies and labeling everything because they seem to think it's a good idea to not tell us what materials we need until the first day of school. 11:30 really doesn't seem so bad seeing as I get up at 6:15, but I couldn't sleep, of course. I know you don't care. I just felt the need to get that all out, and you happen to be my victims, if anyone even reads these. So yes. Enjoy.**

* * *

"So before you go thinking we're a bunch of creepy necrophiliacs, here's the thing—Romano's not dead, he's just unconscious. That easy enough for you?"

Spain silently thanked Prussia for being the one to explain, but he wasn't sure if that answer was sufficient.

"Oh, okay," Carlito said dryly.

"What…that's it? You understand?" Antonio asked incredulously.

"I guess. I mean, I didn't think nations could die that easily anyway." Antonio and Gilbert exchanged sheepish looks. "So is that why you took him out of the hospital?"

"Well, n—"

"Of course it is!" Gilbert lied, elbowing Antonio in the ribcage.

"Ai! What was that for?"

"Shut _up_, Tonio. Arthur came to tell us the good news, then we went to pick him up. _Remember?_" the albino urged. They stared at one another for a moment before Spain had his epiphany and nodded along.

"Sí, sí, I remember now. Thanks, Gil!"

"Any time, my slow friend."

Carlito furrowed his eyebrows at them but shrugged it off. "Cool! So who's in on this, and why are you hiding it from everyone else?"

While Prussia continued to fill Carlito in, Spain turned back to Romano. He'd had another strange dream. But…had it even been a dream? A voice had woken him an hour or so ago. Lovi's voice. He sounded like he was struggling and angry, then…_crying_. Antonio had thought it all to be a sad dream, but it sounded so _real._ When he'd fully woken himself up, however, Lovino was exactly as Gilbert had left him. Silent. Unmoving. Dead.

Spain shook his head. _No, not dead! Roma is still alive! _The thought that refused to surface still remained in the back of his mind: _But he may as well be._

_Romano…Romano…Romano…_

"Tonio, wait! What are you doing?"

Too late. Without realizing it, Spain had been reaching for Lovino's arm, just to make sure he was really there…

"Mnn…"

They all froze. Romano, who had been quiet and motionless for the past week, had made a small sound. A moan? It was hard to say.

"Oh my God…" Three different languages of disbelief filled the shocked silence. Lovino's face held a pained expression for a few fleeting seconds before returning to tranquility. Antonio felt his hand pull back and he gripped his wrist tightly. What had he just done? Was it good or bad? Had he just…_killed_ Lovi? A shiver ran down his spine and spread to his arms and legs. He couldn't stand.

"T-Tonio, hey!" Gilbert caught his friend just in time. Carlito stood by the doorway, slightly shaken and not sure what to do. He knew Lovino was in a coma, but…It was like some bad zombie movie.

"Roma…Roma…" Still shaking, his grip on his wrist tightened. His emerald eyes were wide and wet.

Gilbert pulled him into the chair and glanced worriedly at Carlito. "Hey, uh…Can you do me a favor and call Arthur? I don't know what just happened." The boy nodded as Prussia tossed him his cell phone, and he disappeared down the hall. Prussia pulled at Spain's arm helplessly. He remained unresponsive. "Tonio, come on; talk to me! Don't blank out on me now!"

Spain's lips began to move, slowly, muted. "What? Speak up, man, I can't hear you!" Gilbert insisted.

"…can't you just wake up? Why are you doing this to me, Lovino? What did I do to deserve this? You're hurting me…You're hurting me, Lovi…!" Antonio's voice rose dangerously, hysterically. His arms reached for Romano, the way Romano had reached out for him in his dreams, but Prussia held him back. Always; someone was always keeping them apart. Did no one want them together? But they'd been so _happy_…At least, he thought they were happy. Why had Romano killed himself? Why was he so unhappy? Spain had raised him through all the hard, uncomfortable times; through the blood, sweat, and all those tears, with all the love he could possibly give him. So what drove him over the edge? Telling him he should be more like his brother? How could that possibly—

_Romano won't listen!_

_Austria, can we trade?_

_I just don't understand him, France._

"Tonio, chill! You're scaring me!" A thick German accent snapped him back to reality. He went limp in Gilbert's arms.

"I think I understand now, Gil." Prussia glanced at Antonio nervously.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

Spain sighed and stood. "Why he did this. He had a low self-esteem as it was, and I…I didn't help. Gilbert, I've hurt him just as much as he hurt me."

Prussia simply stared at him. "Did our Antonio just have a revelation?"

Spain frowned. "I'm being serious, Gilbert."

"I know, I know. I'm just glad you finally figured it out," Gilbert smiled softly.

"Wait…You _knew?_"

"Of course! The awesome me knows all! And you know, Romano was — _is_— attached to you. I don't know if you noticed, but he stuck to you like glue, even after he left you. Tonio, you gave this kid the most love anyone has ever given him. Being the one he was emotionally attached to, anything questionable you said could have broken him. It's not your fault." He paused for a moment, then grinned proudly. "Hey, that was a pretty awesome speech. I should get an award—Damn it, Tonio, I'm trying to help you! Don't cry!"

Laughing, Antonio shook his head. "No, no, it's okay…Thanks, Gil. I…I'm really glad to have such an awesome friend." Prussia nodded, obviously pleased with himself.

At that moment, Carlito stuck his head in the doorway and flicked on the light. The two Europeans groaned at the sudden brightness. "It's so dark in here! Anyway, Arthur said he'd be over in a few hours." Finally getting a good look at the tearful but smiling Antonio and a triumphant Gilbert, he gave them a concerned glance before shutting Prussia's phone. "Um…Are you guys okay?"

[=]

"Carlito, what did I tell you about snooping around?"

The younger boy stared at the ground guiltily as America began his stern scolding. "Kuya, I'm sorry. I was just curious and I wanted to find out what was going on! I don't…" Carlito paused, starting to feel embarrassed. His puerility was fairly blatant when he became nosy. "I don't like it when you keep secrets from me. It makes me worried," Carlito explained.

Finding he was genuinely sorry, Alfred's face softened. "I know. I didn't mean to worry you. Just keep this all a secret, okay? That way, when Romano wakes up, you'll be a hero for keeping him safe!"

Philippines grinned brightly, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Really? I can be a hero, just like that?"

"Of course!" Alfred stood straight and placed his hands on his hips dramatically. "You just need a secret identity, a costume, and a cool catchphrase! And you have to strike awesome poses all the time!"

"That sounds like it'll take a long time!" Carlito cocked his head to the side, a motion that looked oddly familiar to England.

"Oh, stop feeding him that rubbish! We don't want another _you_!" Arthur scoffed. He glared at America, who'd been with him when Carlito had called for reasons he refused to disclose. America had insisted upon coming, as Carlito was his "little brother" and shouldn't be influenced by "losers like Prussia."

Alfred smirked at his former father/brother/whatever the hell he was. "If he does turn out like me, it's your fault for raising me the way you did,"

"D-don't be so bloody ridiculous! I raised you just fine! You just…probably learned your horrible mannerisms from France!"

"AHEM."

England, America, and Philippines turned to Prussia, who was standing in the doorway of Spain's bedroom. America took a step forward. "How is Antonio?"

Prussia shrugged. "I had him lie down on the couch downstairs and drink some water. He's calming down, I think. By the way, I can tell you're being very productive here, England." Arthur averted his attention to a rather interesting scratch on the wall. Now how did that get there? He couldn't imagine Antonio ruining his lovely tomato-red paint. With Prussia staring pointedly at him, however, he blushed faintly and muttered something about it being Alfred's fault. Gilbert glanced at America. "So he's a distraction?"

England would have denied this immensely, but he was interrupted by Carlito. "So…How long do you think you guys can put off the funeral before people get suspicious? I mean, I can't be the only curious one." He decided to leave out the fact that China had helped him get there.

The room fell silent until Prussia groaned. "We were hoping he would wake up before it got to that."

America looked back and forth between Gilbert and Arthur. "Let me get this straight…You guys didn't _plan_ for this? You're just going to wait and see?"

England ignored him, trying to think of an incident that could have led to this really very distracting wall blemish, while Prussia uttered a "Pretty much."

"I can't believe this! Iggy, you're supposed to be the responsible one!" Alfred said incredulously.

"I'm not hearing a lecture from you of all people, git. Do _you_ have any bright ideas?" England scoffed.

"Well, not right now, but as the hero I'll think of so—"

"Why don't you just hold a fake funeral?" Carlito suggested casually. The three men looked at him strangely, but slowly began to consider it.

"It…it couldn't hurt…" England mused.

"Why the hell didn't we think of it before?" Prussia said.

America laughed heartily, clapping Carlito's shoulder and nearly knocking him over. "Good idea, Carlito! My awesomeness has obviously rubbed off on you!"

"_Salamat Kuya!_"

Prussia scoffed. "Hey, hey! Who's the awesome one here?"

"Me, of course! The awesome hero!"

"Kuya could totally kick your ass!"

"Kesesese! You want to prove that?"

"All of you, shut up! You're giving me a headache!" England interjected. "This is no time for stupid arguments. We need to make arrangements. How the hell are we going to sneak Lovino out of the coffin before they lower him in?"

Carlito raised his hand eagerly. "I know a guy who can make really realistic human-sized dolls!"

...

"Um…Okay…"

"That's…wonderful, Carlito," England said with a tinge of uneasiness. "Now that we've a dummy, let's call all the nations and a funeral home. Is anyone willing to fund a spurious funeral? No? I didn't think so. I'm sure Spain would be willing." Three pairs of eyes stared at him blankly. "Well? What are you all standing around for? Get me a bloody phone, and for God's sake, someone bring Antonio back up before he trips over his own shadow!"

* * *

**A/N: Here's something I haven't talked about before. I had some people say that they felt more sorry for Spain, and some say they felt more sorry for Romano. It's that fun Who's More Miserable? game. Honestly, I don't know who I think is getting the most hurt here. Sure, Romano had his feelings hurt, but he's constantly hurting Spain. Sure, Spain lost his Lovi, but Romano still has to suffer in limbo with a suspicious pirate!Spain. It's a lose-lose situation, and that's kind of the point I wanted Spain to make when he was talking to Prussia. It's really an experience and opinion matter though, so that's up to you. Thanks for reading, and please review! I apologize profusely for that rant in the beginning and for how short these chapters are. The next one will be longer, I promise.**


	7. Memoria

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part VII**

**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Language  
**A/N: I'd like to take some time to thank everyone who has commented on, fav'd, and subscribed to this story, or any of my other stories for that matter. I really appreciate it, and it makes me so happy to know that people enjoy my writing. Thank you to all of those who have given me concrit and suggestions as well. So without further ado, I present to you the next chapter of LIDL. Unless you skipped this author note. Then there would be no ado in the first place. But then that wouldn't matter because you wouldn't be reading this anyway. SO YUS. On with the story.  
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It was a mild, cloudless day. The sun shone brilliantly and the streets of Rome bustled with cheerful Italians (when you didn't take roadrage into account). Most nations who made their way to the cemetery felt awkward and out of place—it was an odd day for a funeral.

Antonio was completely unsure as to how he should feel about it. He knew it was all fake—the ceremony was being held by phonies; fakes they had hired so the funeral would be off-record. It was in an old private cemetery, where the last deceased that had been buried there had died in the mid-1800s. The assumption was that no one would be there to become suspicious of this new burial.

Honestly, with most of the people attending thinking it was legit, Spain's mind would occasionally wander back to when he'd thought Romano was dead. It was at those times that he either withdrew from the crowd to stare at other gravestones or felt an intense urge to ransack the hearse that held his previous Lovino. Or rather, the dummy Lovino.

Antonio frowned. Dummy Lovino? Even though it was technically correct, he still didn't like that. It sounded so disrespectful. He pondered the issue for a moment before deciding upon calling it the Lovi Doll. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned back to the proceedings. Many were seated in lawn chairs, but he'd chosen to stand. So had Italy, Germany, Prussia, and Seborga, who were standing in front of a tree not two yards away. All looked melancholy, sans Feliciano, who had a blank, unreadable expression on his face. _Strange…_Spain thought. _I wonder what he's thinking about?_ His eyes lowered and something caught his eye. Or rather, something flooded his vision.

Black. So much black. Everywhere.

It tore him how depressed everyone was and all of this blinding, mind-numbing _black_. It was sickening to the point where Spain wanted to run through the makeshift aisles and shout, "Lovi is alive! I know he is! That's not Lovi, that's a doll! Stop looking so sad!"

Although he was used to solemn events, which seemed to go hand-in-hand with being a nation, Spain was not particularly fond of funerals. He knew that people wanted loved ones to celebrate their life instead of mourning their death, like he did, but it was hard to act cheerful when someone you loved with all your heart left you.

The casket was open. It was carried to the front, adorned in red ribbons and sundry assortments of flowers. Spain had to commend his former Asian colony. The craftsmanship on the doll was simply amazing. The man who had built in, who spoke muddled Tagalog, Spanish, and English, had not even asked them what they were using it for. Its features matched Romano perfectly, from the small, round nose, to the sad, green-brown eyes, to the lush auburn hair. He wanted to touch it, to see if it felt like Lovino as much as it looked like him, but he knew he would be disappointed. To hold Lovino again, to run his fingers in those soft spots of skin that would make him let out that sweet, beautiful noise, that twinkling sound of laughter that only Spain got to hear...

Well. It was ridiculous to imagine tickling a doll. Just a little bit.

The thought made him smile a little, and he tried to imagine Romano turning red as a little tomato, calling him stupid for thinking of things like that. Those who caught a glimpse of this smiling Spaniard figured he was recalling a fond memory. And he was.

And suddenly, he had no idea what it was—but there was something that seemed incredibly funny about this whole event. _That's not Romano you're mourning over, it's a doll! We really fooled every single one of ya, didn't we? _But Spain composed himself and pressed his lips into a thin line. Silent, he would have to remain silent. He didn't want to ruin their cov—

Spain's eyes widened. Had he heard…laughter? Yes, it was coming from where the Germans and Italians were standing. Apparently Italy had found the humor in the situation too—but he wasn't suppressing it. Panic shot through Antonio and he glanced desperately to Germany for help. Ludwig, looking shocked at first, immediately slapped a hand over Feliciano's mouth and nodded a quick apology to those surrounding him. Seborga whispered something to him, looking confused, and Germany responded with, "I'm sorry; he's hysterical. I'll take him away for a bit, and hopefully it will calm him down." Ludwig draped the youngest Italian over one shoulder and marched away, and those distracted turned their attention back to the ceremony. Antonio searched the crowd, looking for those telltale twin caterpillars. England caught his gaze and raised one hairy, hideous creature (Spain still half-expected them to crawl off his face and devour everyone in sight at any moment). The bespectacled American sitting next to Arthur nudged him, whispering something in his ear. England rolled his eyes and the service continued.

[/]

The casket was being lowered.

Italy and Germany had returned.

Spain had disappeared without notice long ago.

Prayers were whispered in silence, nations watched with heavy hearts. _Even with this loss, we are still strong. We can move on. We have lost so many before. We cannot show weakness to anyone._

And it rained, but the ground remained dry.

[/]

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He'd been wanting to get a new car.

A red sports car, like a ripe tomato or a flustered Romano. Something fast, flashy, pretty, impressive. He would have driven it up the Vargas' driveway, rang the doorbell, and showed it off to the brothers. One would jump up and down in delight, wanting to test-drive it. Unfortunately, based on the fact that Italy seemed to have a new car every week, he would have to turn him down. The other would remain silent and demand the same from everyone else. He'd want to get a feel for the new, fresh leather, slowly baking in the late sun and releasing the most intoxicating smell; the bloodred paint that danced a sensual tango when flashing through the streets of Madrid…

Antonio shivered, shaking the image of Lovino caressing his dreamed-of car out of his head. The hands tap-tap-tapping on his steering wheel paused and leaned back in his old, red, so-faded-it-looked-pink pickup truck that Romano and France had always hated. It was so…_hickish_, they would protest. Spain could only shrug. It was reliable for picking hundreds of tomatoes at once, and he rather liked having all that storage room in the back. And he really was nothing but a country bumpkin, wasn't he?

A car used simply for show would only be useful for going out to the city or someone's house, so he didn't really see the point in it. But when he was at the Vargas house one day, watching television on the couch whilst eating gelato, a Ferrari commercial aired. The sparkle in the Italians' eyes was too bright for even Spain not to notice.

It would make them happy, and that's all Antonio really wanted.

_The funeral should be nearly over by now, _he thought. He forced the key into the ignition and gave Old Faithful a few aggravated turns before the engine hacked to life. He was about to pull out of the small church's parking lot when he spotted a figure running down a hill in the distance, waving their arms above their head frantically. Spain squinted and waited patiently to identify them. It was the Philippines.

He watched curiously as Carlito approached the vehicle, pausing at the passenger door to catch his breath. Antonio rolled down the window. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"S…sí…" Carlito wheezed. "The funeral's almost over…Everyone's going to take their time leaving…I had to run the whole way to make sure I beat them all…'cause I saw you leave…and I hoped you'd still be here…"

Spain pursed his lips. How far was the cemetery from the parking lot? Almost a mile? He'd walked the entire way. "Must be nice to have all that energy," Antonio smiled.

Carlito leaned into the window, eying a box of tomatoes on the floor in front of the passenger's seat. "Mister Ecarma wants payment for the doll," he said, holding out a hand.

"Straight to business, eh?" Spain laughed. One hand dropped from the wheel to his lap, pulling at the black fabric of his trousers. "Um, the problem is…I don't have any money. With me, anyway. I left it all at home."

A loud metallic _BANG_ nearly made him jump out of his seat. Antonio turned to the source of the noise to find Carlito halfway through the open window, cursing in his native tongue and rubbing his head. "Are you okay? How did you hit your head?" the Spaniard asked worriedly.

Carlito took a sharp intake of breath and looked behind him in the direction of the cemetery. His voice lowered to a nervous whisper. "You saw Mister Ecarma at the ceremony, right?" Spain nodded. "Well, he kind of wanted the pay right after the funeral." This was met with a blank stare. "Like, _**now**_."

"_Ohhh!_ That's not good! Will you be in trouble for not paying now?"

"Yeah! Huge trouble!" Carlito said with wide eyes.

Spain sighed and stroked his chin, trying to come up with a solution. He didn't want to borrow money from anyone; this was all at his expense and his alone. "Ah!" he said suddenly, slapping his fist in his palm. "I'll go home and get the money! Do you want to stay here, or…?"

"No way!" The boy shook his head rapidly. "The Doll Man might get to me! And I'm trying to be my own hero now, so I don't want anyone to have to protect me!" he said, putting his fist to his chest as if taking an oath. "Let's hurry up and get the money!" Never mind the fact that he was undeniably asking for Spain's help. That didn't count. Because he was the one doing Spain the favor.

"You know, we're not going to get back in time…This isn't the fastest car in the world and people are going to start leaving pretty soon," Spain said in a rare moment of insight.

"_Di ko alam. _I guess I'll just give it to him the next time I see him." Carlito climbed in through the window the rest of the way, and hell if Spain couldn't resist watching a child climb. _So cute~! _he thought, but did not deem it appropriate to say out loud. Carlito would most likely freak at him anyway.

It was then that a song in which a robotic-sounding lady telling someone to stop telephoning her began to reverberate throughout the car. Carlito pulled a cellphone out of his pocket, took one look at the caller ID, and dropped it as if it were on fire.

_Juanito Ecarma._

"Floor it, dammit!"

The urgency in the Filipino's tone induced a panicked reaction—_footpedalscreechblur ohshitthere__satreetheredonthitthechurch—_

As soon as they were on a main road, Carlito released his death grip on the seatbelt and shakingly asked, "Where the _hell_ did you learn how to drive?"

"Italy?" Spain replied.

"For seriously?"

"That was a joke."

"Oh."

An awkward silence rested upon them for a good twenty minutes before Carlito asked, "So…why did he do it?" He winced when he saw Antonio tense. The Spaniard relaxed again before answering.

"We got into a fight," he said.

"That's it? There _has_ to be more!" There was no way Romano would kill himself after a simple fight. He got into fights all the time.

"I don't know. It was just like any other fight we've had." Antonio stared straight ahead, his expression never wavering from a sad calmness. "I guess I just never realized how seriously he took anything I said. Ever since he was a kid, I thought he never listened, so I haven't ever felt the need to worry about what I'm saying. Not really, anyway."

Carlito gazed at the dusty dashboard thoughtfully. He knew Romano listened. He remembered.

A very long time ago, Carlito had once been scrubbing his floors with coconut husk when that pouty Italian boy Spain took care of had walked up to him. He'd always admired those crisp, pretty outfits he wore.

"Do you have sunburn?" he'd asked innocently.

"Why would I have sunburn?" Romano had snapped. "Though it is fucking hot here."

"Your face is red," Carlito frowned. "Do you need ointment?"

His face was radiating. "I-it's nothing! I just…um…need to tell you something."

Well this was new. He of course knew Lovino; Spain talked about him constantly and his country was pretty well-known to Spanish colonies. But never had Romano wanted to talk to him about anything. This must have been something important.

"Tell me something?"

"Yeah…um…see…" Lovino fidgeted a bit, then groaned in frustration. He plopped down on the floor next to the younger boy. "Ah, hell! Look, Spain told me how babies were made, and he made it the most awkward conversation _ever_. Since I'm super-nice and cool and all, I'm going to tell you myself so you won't have to go through that."

And then Romano had explained it all to him, right then and there, without any confusing analogies or riddles. Carlito listened in disbelief. Not at the topic itself, but the fact that this was Lovino. Lovino, who he'd thought was just Spain's spoiled little servant that would never associate with him, was giving him one of the most important talks that could be given to a child. Carlito had decided at that point that even though he was one messed-up, bratty, temperamental kid, he had his good points. And Carlito looked up to him as the brave nation that survived the dense mass known as Antonio.

They did not talk a lot, but they got along. Most of their discussions were about Spain, and as he got older, Carlito realized Romano did not truly see Spain as a father or brother. What really got him was that Antonio never noticed.

He probably still didn't know.

Hundreds of years of keeping quiet, of trying not to do something brash, of running off when he felt the situation growing too awkward…Carlito would often find Romano crying behind Spain's mansion. As the decades wore on, he seemed to grow more and more used to it. By the time he'd left Spain's house for his new home with Feliciano, Lovino would pray to God, wishing to get over the Spaniard. It was depressing to watch. The young Asian island had to confront him.

"Why would you like someone like that?" he'd asked gently. "What did he ever do for you?"

Olive Italian eyes, murky with wetness, looked straight through him. "He loved me."

The Philippines remembered that soft whisper that had nearly broken his heart. And he knew Romano remembered so much more.

* * *

**A/N: As promised, it's longer than the last chapter (though not by much). And very, very late. I keep getting yelled at for it. ;-; *wipes away crocodile tears* So anyway, this story's entire length keeps fluctuating in my mind. As of now, seeing as half of this chapter was made up as I was going along, it's going to be at least ten chapters. I can't see it ending in a chapter or two. Thanks for reading, and reviews make me trololo with joy.**

**Translations:  
**_**Di ko alam**__ – _I don't know (Not as in I don't know what it means; this is what it translates to. Unnecessary to say? Yes. I know. But you'd be surprised.)  
_**Juanito Ecarma **_– Not a translation, rather a note…this is my grandma's brother's name. I was too lazy to make one up :I


	8. Contemplazioni

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part VIII**

**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Language  
**A/N: I don't like to accuse people of anything, but I've been seeing a lot of lines eerily similar to ones I've used in this fic on deviantArt and such. I'm sure I'm not the only one to think up this kind of stuff and I'm not going to point out anything specific, but this is a reminder: Please don't steal or copy; I barely own enough as it is. Sorry for sounding paranoid… ^^;  
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Waiting for this dreary sham to be over was much harder than England expected. Especially with the fidgety American next to him, who'd been tapping on the seat of his chair and trying to lean over and whisper things into the Brit's ear. Most of these sentiments included, "When will this be over?" and "What time is it?" and the ever-fun "Boy, what would Romano do if he saw that creepy-ass doll look-alike?" Alfred did indeed pose the most intelligent questions at just the right times. _Hilarious._

After Germany left with Italy and Arthur's death stares had dissipated, America had said, "That was a close one, Iggy! Italy sure has a loud mouth, huh?"

_Says the one who's been running his mouth off throughout the entire ceremony, _Arthur thought with a roll of his eyes. Eventually he noticed that Spain was gone, and the Philippines stood from his spot behind Alfred and excused himself shortly after. _Thank God,_ Arthur sighed guiltily. _The boy's been glaring daggers as me the whole time. _It could have had something to do with his kuya leaning close to England every so often. Carlito was rather family-oriented, Arthur noticed, so it was only natural he was protective of his "big brother." Plus England hadn't been the nicest nation to him in the past. But that was history, right? Grudges couldn't be held that long…

How wrong Arthur was. History and grudges were often what started wars, not to mention this very situation. Even Carlito knew that.

[=]

A bit unnerved by the silence, the Filipino pulled his legs up on the chair and hugged his knees. "Spain, I want to ask you something," he muttered.

"¿Qué? What is it?"

He didn't know how to ask. He was no country of romance, of passion, of love. Carlito had never really been in love, so he had no idea how it felt. So he asked the only way he knew how. "How did you…How do you really feel about Romano?"

Shocked by the question to which he thought had an obvious answer, Antonio looked at the Filipino quizzically. "How do I feel about _mi amigito_? I love him, of course!"

"I _know_ you love him," Carlito said with a hint of frustration. "But in what way? As a brother? A son? A friend? A…" Carlito bit his lip. _God, Spain…Please, for Romano… _ "…A lover?"

The truck screeched to a halt, jerking its two passengers forward and causing the younger one to cry out.

"Seriously, Spain, what the fu—" Carlito stopped when he turned to the Spaniard.

Tears.

He was crying.

"I…I'm sorry…Did I say it too soon?" _Too soon for what? It's not like Romano really died…_

"No…" Antonio squeezed the steering wheel with one hand and covered his mouth with the other. "No! I can't! That was an accident; I don't know why I had a dream like that! I can't think of him like that, Francis says I shouldn't even be in a room alone with him! Why do I have to be so cautious around him? I shouldn't even need to worry about hurting him! If I think like that, I'll hurt him! I'm hurt Lovinito!" The tears would not stop, and Carlito felt rather helpless in this situation. Since he mostly felt lingering resentment towards the Spaniard for centuries of mistreatment, he wasn't sure whether he should be triumphant or feel sorry for him. After a quick internal debate, the Philippines chose to be civil.

"Hey…I know you're kind of babbling hysterically, but what are you talking about? What dream, and what does France have to do with anything?"

Antonio blinked several time as if he'd forgotten Carlito was even there. He took a few deep, calming breaths, and released the brakes. "I had these dreams the other night, _pero_…I don't think I should be telling you this, Carlito."

"Why not?"

Ah, he was pouting. Spain tried not to picture Romano doing the same. "You're not quite old enough," he said, clearing his throat.

"Not old enough?" Carlito huffed, not really thinking about what that could mean. "I'm a lot older than I look, stupid!"

Despite how contradicting he was being, Carlito had a point. He'd been around for a long time. "I guess you're right," Spain nodded. "A few nights ago, I had two dreams…"

[=]

Romano liked to think that he was manly. He figured he had the harsh but chivalrous attitude down, along with good looks (and he would kill anyone who said he was pretty) and a fighting spirit. When it was convenient of course, during times of war for example, he labeled himself as a lover, not a fighter.

The problem with Romano's manly self-image was that no one seemed to see him the same way. It was sickening enough to hear idiots calling Feliciano cute, but when the table turned to him, he was ready to fire back an insult or two (or smile and ignore it if said idiot happened to be a pretty girl). Being called "cute" made him feel self-conscious, not to mention childish. Everyone saw him as a whining little kid, it seemed. Along with that, being cute is dangerous when one is alone at night in the streets. He avoided those situations as much as possible, because as much as he loved to consider himself rogue, good looks could get him attacked. When he was forced to walk alone, his air of intimidation was usually heavy enough to keep him safe.

It was never night here and there were no streets, yet he still felt the danger. And quite frankly, he didn't understand it.

"What the hell is wrong with you, jerk?" Romano shouted, swatting piratic hands from his waist for about the fifth time in the past hour. _Che palle! First it seems like he's trying to help me, then he molests me every chance he gets!_

Pirate Spain frowned from his place behind the Italian. "There's nothing wrong with me. Isn't it natural to become aroused when you're constantly around someone so cute?"

Lovino turned to face Antonio, still completely thrown off by just how blunt this Spain always seemed to be. "F-fuck, don't say things like that! That's so gross!"

"I don't see how, _mi cariño_," Spain said, his burning gaze on Lovino never wavering.

That was another thing that bugged him. "And stop looking at me like that all the time! It's highly disconcerting to catch you staring at my ass and licking your lips like some old pervert! It's bad enough being in this shithole, and you harassing me isn't making this any better!"

Romano suddenly found himself lying flat on his stomach, his arms pinned to his back and a Spaniard pressed against him. His voice poured into Romano's ear like venom laced with testosterone. "Why don't you stop bitching about every little thing? Haven't you learned your lesson yet, or do you have to die again? I haven't even done anything to hurt you." A devious smile curled upon the pirate's lips. "Not yet, anyway."

At that point, Romano's manly self-image came crumbling down as always. He whimpered as frightened tears streamed down his cheeks, the thought, _He's going to rape me,_ reverberating through his mind. He hated crying. It happened much too often for his liking, and he was absolutely defenseless. Romano prepared for the worst, wishing hell upon whoever had told Spain about the joys of pirating.

Instead he felt a weight being lifted off his back. He could move again. He sat up quickly to see Spain sitting a few feet away, polishing his pistol with a tattered cloth. His red-cloaked back was facing the Italian.

"I was only kidding, Romano. Antonio could never hurt you," he said steadily. "Not on purpose."

Romano sat up cross-legged and stared at Antonio's back. The fabric was such an attractive, bright red; he was tempted to reach out and touch it. But due to the jacket being draped around a sadistic pirate, he held back.

"We're often drawn to temptation," Spain said suddenly, holding his gun in the air to examine it. Romano jumped and felt his face heat up, wondering if Spain had read his mind. He didn't seem to notice. "It's like a dazzling gemstone, sitting on its lonesome. It draws you in, perhaps there's no turning back. But," the Spaniard paused to look at Romano and place the pistol back in his belt, "there's always a catch."

Was he insane? What the hell was he talking about?

Antonio turned to face him, gesturing the air around them. "This," he said bitterly, "is your catch."

Romano gawked at him momentarily before deadpanning, "What was the point of that stupid analogy?"

"I'm a pirate, what do you expect?"

The Italian groaned. Yes, he'd given in to the temptation of easing out of all his problems. Now he was trapped. "So you're saying this is my fault, right? Like I didn't know that already." Spain shrugged in response. "Any other bright revelations for me?" Romano asked sarcastically.

"_Ay_, don't get pissy! I'm not your enemy here," Spain said, wagging his index finger at the smaller man.

"That's hard to believe sometimes," Romano murmured, feeling self-conscious again. He looked down, hoping his hair would cover the light blush and worried eyes.

Spain sighed and reached his arms toward him. "Come here, Lovinito," he said gently. He pulled Romano into his lap and wrapped his arms around his waist. Romano didn't push him away, though his brain screamed at him to do so. "Don't be scared, Lovi. _Está bien_, I'm sorry. Say…" Spain rested his chin on Romano's shoulders and whispered, "Are you afraid of me?"

_No, of course I'm not afraid of you! I'm not afraid of anything!_ Romano felt his heads nod ever so slightly. Spain laughed and hugged him tighter. He seemed to be in a good mood, and Romano didn't want to ruin it by protesting. So he asked the question he'd been waiting to ask ever since he'd gotten his bearings.

"Spain?"

"Sí?"

"Um…How do I go back?"

Again Antonio laughed, pulling back to meet Romano's eyes with a knowing look. "Lovi, you don't_ go_ back. You're _taken_ back."

[=]

Dark, looming clouds reached over Antonio's house, obscuring Carlito's view of the tomato fields peeking out from the backyard. He sat quietly in the stagnant truck, waiting for Spain to come back out with the money. He'd offered to let Carlito in, if only to get him to say something after the prolonged silence following Spain's explanation. The younger nation had refused.

Antonio's dreams haunted him.

Not only had he told the first one so vividly that Carlito found himself in that morbid room of blood and a grinning Romano, but he'd also made it seem like it had really happened. It gave him a maddening feeling of déjà vu that he couldn't quite shake ff. The second dream had been retold vaguely. It wasn't something Antonio wanted to get into with someone who might kind-sorta think he was a freak. When he'd finished his recount, Carlito didn't say a word. Spain figured the boy probably thought he was a sick bastard and didn't want to talk to him anymore—he could understand that. _I wouldn't want to talk to me either…Wait, does that mean I can't talk to myself? Can I _think _to myself? I guess it doesn't matter whether I think or say things, I can still hear myself…so…uh…I guess I should stop thinking…? But I can't do that! I still have to figure out how to wake Lovi up! Loviiii…please be awake when I come home…_

As Spain rambled on in his head, making strange faced in response to his own contemplations, Carlito was having other conflicts.

He felt his suspicions were confirmed. _Maybe_. Carlito winced. Spain _had_ to love Romano, didn't he? Why else would he dream about…doing _that_ with him? He seemed like the type who would only make love to someone they…well…_loved_.

They'd each mulled these thoughts over until the truck stopped at Spain's house, said nation coming back to his senses and asking Carlito if he wanted to come inside with him. Carlito merely shook his head. Spain had shrugged it off, frowning at the threating rainclouds overhead that he hadn't noticed before. Seeing as Spain was very forgetful when it came to where he'd last placed his money, it gave Carlito plenty of time to think.

As soon as Spain opened the car door and held out his money-bearing hand, Carlito said, "Antonio, you're going to need a hell of a lot more money than that. We're catching the quickest flight to England. I think I know how to wake Romano up."

* * *

**A/N: Cliffhangers…haha...yeah. I promise it won't take another three months to get the next chapter up. *brick'd***

**The link is on my profile page, but if anyone wants to know what Carlito looks like, my deviantArt account is under the same username. Thanks for reading, and please review~**


	9. Piani

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part IX**

**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Language  
**Hetalia does not belong to me, so please don't steal the little that I do own.**

**A/N: PLEASE READ U GAIZ. I've got a few things to get off my chest…first of all, I am really, REALLY sorry it took this long to get this chapter up. There are a lot of reasons and excuses as to why I didn't update, but I'll digress. Second of all, I realize that up to now I've seemed friendly, spineless, and buddy-buddy with all my reviewers, so I regret to inform you that I do not appreciate whiny, obnoxious demands that I update. Don't get me wrong, I love and appreciate reviews, but when someone reviews with nothing but, "****Hey you know what you should do? UPDATE. SOON. Cmon man do you hate us or something?" I'm ready to rip out some theoretical throats. I'm fine with people asking me to update (in fact I think it's a good thing, it tells me people still want to read this story), as long as they have something else to say. I'd just like you to say at least ONE thing about the story if you're going to review. I do believe this is the point of reviewing. I've thought about disallowing anonymous reviews, but I realize that would be pretty pointless for such a small problem and I do get a lot of nice anon feedback. So please, whoever you are, for the love of God stop giving me these reviews. I have to thank It's a Quirk for their lovely message that made my day and re-reminded me that I do have lots of awesome readers. Thanks to those of you whose reviews made me smile! Sorry for the rant, but I was in a really bad mood when I read those updating reviews and they certainly didn't help. And to the anon(s) who left those reviews, I apologize for sounding bitchy, but you caught me at the wrong time. I hope this doesn't keep you from reviewing a bit more thoughtfully in the future.**

* * *

Time slowed in Spain's mind, large rain droplets lazing their way down. When one splashed on the back of his neck, he scrambled into the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

"What do you mean? How?" he asked breathlessly.

"I've…I've been thinking about it." Carlito didn't want to make Spain aware of Romano's constant pain. He didn't need to know. That was something for Romano to confess. "But anyway…You told France, but does England know about your dreams?"

"Hmm…No, I only told Francis. Why?"

Carlito threw his hands into the air impatiently. "_Why? _This could _mean_ something! I don't know much about spirits, but maybe Romano was trying to tell you something!"

Tell him something? With dreams of blood and sex? Antonio shook his head. What would Lovi be telling him? "Well…I did have them while sleeping next to him…So I guess that might make sense…?"

"Exactly!" The Filipino nodded as Spain pulled out of his driveway. "So did you have any other dreams?"

Antonio opened his mouth to say no, but a sudden thought struck him. "Well…yes, actually. At least, I _think_ it was a dream. I don't know. I thought it woke me up, but maybe it was just the end of my dream…."

"What was it?"

Spain sighed. Remembering gave him a strange sensation. His throat tightened, his heart became heavy, but most of all…he felt a burning, unfamiliar _anger_. "Everything was the same as when I went to sleep. I was sitting in a chair next to the bed. But…Lovi wasn't lying down. He was reaching for me and crying, but something, maybe someone, was keeping him from getting to me. The weirdest part about that dream was my eyes were open the whole time. I was tired, but I know I didn't go back to sleep after that." He looked at Carlito, whose eyes were wide, dark chocolate orbs.

"Wait. Does that mean Romano already _has_ woken up once?" Carlito asked. "Because that doesn't sound like a dream to me."

"Um, maybe. I don't know," Spain said, sounding distracted. _Lovi woke up? Why didn't he stay awake? Maybe this means he'll wake up soon again!_ His excitement built up, and before he knew it, they were buying plane tickets for the 12:30 flight to London.

"What happened to him when you were waking up?" Carlito asked, clearly hoping they were getting somewhere with this. Juanito Ecarma's payment was completely forgotten.

"He just kind of slid back down as if he were being forced to sleep," Antonio said as they took their seats, not having to be bothered with storing any baggage overhead.

"But what was holding him back?"

Antonio glared at the seat in front of him, green eyes turning acidic. Carlito's breath caught—that predatory look that he'd known well when he was younger. It frightened him, even if he knew Spain was no longer like that. His anger once used for power was now a parental vengeance, which was probably much, much worse.

His response, clipped and biting, was simply. "Whatever it is, I'm going to find out."

The passengers of the 12:30 flight to London had an eerily uncomfortable trip.

[/]

England shut his phone with an elongated sigh and dropped wearily onto the couch. He hadn't been home from the funeral for long, and already he was expecting company.

Over the phone, Spain had sounded a bit intimidating. England could only assume this had something to do with Romano, but then again, what _else_ did Spain ever talk to him about nowadays? With no chance to reject the visit on account of Spain and the Philippines having arrived in London five minutes ago, he supposed he had to talk to the pair who each held a strong distaste for him. How wonderful.

The doorbell rang sometime within the next hour, and England awkwardly welcomed his guests they quickly declined his really very polite offer of a snack or drink (much to the Brit's annoyance) and settled themselves in his living room.

"What seems to be the problem, Spain?" England directed his attention to the elder of the two, which always proved to be a great source of irritation for the younger nations.

"I have some information that may help us figure this out. At least, that's what Carlito says," Spain stated, glancing at the younger for affirmation.

"Hm? And what's that?"

"Well…um…you see…"

"I don't have all day. What the bloody fuck is it?"

And what _was_ it? He wasn't exactly sure. Carlito thought there was something important about his dreams, that maybe Romano was trying to reach him. What help was that?

The trio sat in silence as Arthur and Carlito stared at the Spaniard, waiting for a response. England was beginning to doze off when Carlito smacked Spain's arm none too gently. "Just tell him your dreams and I'll explain it!" he said.

Spain's mouth formed a comprehensive "o" and he gave England a version of his dreams as close to the one he'd told to Carlito as he could. At the same time, he rubbed his offended arm. _It's probably going to bruise by tomorrow morning, _he pouted to himself.

Carlito nodded and picked up where Antonio had ended. "I…I don't know, this is just a thought mine, but do you think maybe Romano is trying to tell him something? Or is all this just Spain's mental problems?"

"Ay…"

"Interesting…" England stood slowly and walked to a large bookshelf that took up much of the west wall, pausing to weave over its contents. He pulled out his selection—a rather modern-looking hardcover, _Spiritual Encounters._ "It could be." England flipped through the index until he found what he was looking for and nodded. "Yes, it's possible in our situation. There might be a connection between your unconscious mind and Lovino's spirit."

Spain opened his mouth again as if to say something, but shut it when he realized he had no idea _what_.

"What's Romano trying to say?" Carlito asked. The Brit only shrugged in response.

"They could be violent and lustful afterthoughts, I suppose. I haven't read much of this book and I'm no expert on the subject, so I can't interpret dreams. Your guess is as good as mine."

Spain sighed and buried his face in his hands. "So what are we supposed to do?" He glanced up at England, whose unnaturally large eyebrows were furrowed in…concern? Confusion? Concentration? "_Inglaterra_…If you know something, tell me," Spain said gravely.

England clicked his tongue. There was something he'd heard about once, from one of his fairies, but he'd never gotten around to trying it before. But could he trust the Spaniard not to screw it up? "Well…"

"Arthur, _por favor…_I will do anything, honestly. I want to do something about this. I want to _try._ I can't just sit around while he could die at any second. If you know anything I can do, tell me. It's my fault he's hurting. Please, Arthur. Let me fix this."

Arthur studied Antonio in earnest: eyes steady, hands clenched on each of his legs, dark bags under his eyes, messy hair…determination.

And he knew Spain. The dense idiot would do anything to get his way—especially if it involved protecting a certain henchman. England nodded to himself in certainty; if he told Spain he would have to sail to the edge of the earth to find Romano, he would do it. The damned fool.

"Yes, I…I do know something we can try, if you two really do have a connection. We'll have to read up on it a bit more, of course. But if we can get you from your dream into Romano's mind…we can potentially lure him out. But…"

"But…what?" Spain's eyes widened. This was good. This was progress. _This was something he could do._

"_But…_Only if he's willing to go."

Spain nodded nervously. He knew he could not force Romano out of his coma if he didn't want to come back. He needed to find the right words and finally show Romano the love he so desperately needed.

There was a lot of thinking to be done, and not nearly enough aspirin in the world.

[/]

"What are you guys trying to do? _Inception_?" Leave it to Alfred to make a reference to a movie Spain had never seen. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"_No_, Alfred. It's not the same. Spain is going into Romano's mind through his own dream. There's only one dream involved, you cinephilic twit." He snorted as the American stuck his tongue out.

"Whatever. I didn't ask you. Anyway, what are you gonna try? And how the hell are you going to convince him to come back? No offense, but Romano's one stubborn bitch."

"Alfred!"

"Hey, I'm just stating facts!"

It would not have mattered anyway, as Spain was staring aimlessly at the cream-colored walls of the meeting hall. He was deep in thought, and had been for the duration of the entire world conference. They were the last three nations left in the building, but were soon to be joined by Prussia and France, who had offered to grab something quick to eat. Nobody besides Prussia was quite desperate enough to agree to America's McDonald's plan, and really, Prussia just wasn't used to the boring, serious environment. France had joined him to ensure the absence of greasy fast food, and the planning began once again.

"Tonio! Earth to Tonio! Did you not notice America calling your vegetable of a boy toy a bitch, or more importantly, the return of your awesome best friend?" Prussia flicked the Spaniard's nose as France dropped the bag of food on the table. Spain blinked once and smiled until he registered Prussia's words. His eyes narrowed and he turned to America, who shrugged.

"Hey, man, chill. Just trying to get you out of that stupor. No disrespect; he can be pretty cool," America said.

The Spaniard rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. He was too tired to argue. "Ah, sí…_Dios_…I don't know what to say. My mind is completely blank…I just can't focus on telling him how I feel if he's not here."

France laughed heartily, draping an arm around Spain's shoulder. "Listen, _mon ami_, this is not something you can plan. Let me ask you a question. How do you feel right now?"

Antonio pursed his lips and searched his thoughts. "Um…sad…frustrated…lonely."

"Right. And how would you feel if, say, he walked into this very meeting room at this moment?"

He perked considerably. "Happy, of course! Excited, relieved, grateful as hell, really really really happy and glad and—"

"Yes, yes, we've got the point. Now, you see?"

"…Uh…no."

France smiled a knowing smile and released Antonio, folding his arms. "Well, my idiotic friend, in which scenario did you feel more confident of yourself?"

"The second one, I suppose." He ignored the friendly insult. He was used to it, and besides, this was much more important.

"So in which situation do you think you could find the words you're looking for?"

"O-oh…Oh…Oh! I get it! When I see him, I'll know exactly what to say, right? Thanks, Francis! That really takes a load off my shoulders!" Spain cheered and, for a reason unknown to the other four men, skipped out of the room in elation.

"Just try not to get too excited! You'll scare him off!" France called after him. He desperately hoped Spain had heard. The brunet tended to listen to advice, but never really paid attention to what the actual root of the problem was. But France did have _some_ faith in Spain's comprehensive abilities.

"Why the bloody fuck did that oaf just leave?" England asked incredulously. They each stared at the doorway grimly.

America picked up his and England's food and steered the smaller blond out of the room. "Don't worry, Iggy. He's a big boy; he can figure these things out on his own. See you guys!" he called to the paler two of the Bad Touch Trio.

"That's not what I meant!" England huffed, pushing America's hands away. "I meant, I still have to tell him how to even _enter_ Romano's mind—"

"It's fine!" America cut him off. "Let him think love'll give him all the answers or some shit like that. For now, at least. He's the country of passion; he feeds on that sentimental crap."

England snorted. "When did _you_ become such the romantic?" he said, half-sarcastically. He couldn't tell if he was annoyed or surprised.

Alfred laughed and pecked the elder on the cheek. "_When_? Baby, I was born this way!"

"Oh, _shut up_." He could barely shove the really-not-that-much-taller-_honestly_ American.

"You totally set that up yourself."

"_Someone _just needs to stop watching so much television!"

"That's more like the radio, in this case."

Arthur flushed in irritation and definitely not embarrassment. "Shut _up!_"

[/]

Green-brown eyes wandered the white abyss with a mind as blank as a new slate. Pointless, numb thoughts surfaced occasionally. Why wasn't he getting hungry? Where did this Spain, the one in his coma, come from? When the hell was he going to get out of here? He couldn't imagine going back now. But a tomato or pizza or some wine would be nice…wouldn't it? He couldn't tell if he actually wanted them or if this was a desperate attempt to feel whole.

Spain the pirate had walked off some time ago—he could never keep track of the time passed. The Italian wondered vaguely where he possibly could have gone, and if he even cared.

"Of course you care. You adore my company."

Romano started at the feeling of hot, sticky breath ghosting down his neck. He whipped around to glare at the pirate—no, he was a conquistador again. Romano didn't bother to question his wardrobe changes anymore. "What the fuck are you talking about? And since when could you read my mind?"

The conquistador smiled. He was in a bright mood, since _he _was coming soon. His connection with Romano was becoming stronger. "Tsk, tsk, Lovi. What have I said about language?" he lectured, ignoring Romano's questions.

"To hell with my…Wait…Have you been able to read my mind this entire time…?" He flushed. He'd had some…unvirtuous thoughts in his "stay" here. None of them, of course, involved Spain. At all.

"Ah, _querido_, you worry too much. No, I haven't had the privilege of delving into the depths of your oh-so-complicated thought processes." Romano raised an eyebrow as Spain's smile shifted into a smirk. "But who's been calling who a pervert? No wonder Spain was having those dreams."

Romano was about to argue, but he quickly caught on to the Spaniard's last sentence. "His…dreams? How do you know about his dreams?"

"Oops, looks like I've said too much," he mock-gasped, covering his mouth scandalously.

A look of panic struck Romano's face. Why did this bastard always give him a clue and keep him hanging? Why, when he felt he could get that much closer, when he thought he could really—

"No, don't cry, _Lovinito_…You want to know, right? Why I'm here, why I'm helping you, how I know his dreams…" Spain placed a comforting hand on the smaller man's shoulder.

"I-I'm not crying!" he shouted, taking a moment to rub at his eyes. "But…yeah…I want to know," he muttered.

The conquistador's next actions only served to confuse Romano further. Spain removed his hand from the Italian's shoulder. He pointed to Romano's head, "Here…," and drew an imaginary line to his heart, "…and here. _That_ is where I come from, why I'm here with you, and how I know."

"That tells me jack shit!" Romano cried out in frustration after a few moments of contemplative silence. "Please, stop messing with me! I can't fucking stand it! God, you've even reduced me to begging! I just want to go home, dammit!" He burst into tears and uselessly beat his fists into Spain's chest. He finally gave in within seconds, burying his face into the Spaniard's jacket. The conquistador could only purse his lips sadly. He could not tell Romano because Romano didn't know the answers himself, and Spain didn't know, and it only grew more complicated. All he could do was guide and comfort. He had even gone as far as to let Romano see Antonio, but even this was stretching his abilities. Of course, his abilities were only based on Antonio's and Lovino's will power. Both nations were aching. Romano was running out of hope, and it was taking a huge toll on the conquistador. He could not lose this battle.

At that moment, an indistinct rip tore gently into the sky, but Romano was in no condition to notice. Spain, however, looked up in mild surprise. He smiled and swallowed down the lump in his throat, letting a single tear slip down his tired face. "_No más lágrimas, Lovinito…_Soon we'll both be whole again."

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter will most likely be the last. It seems weird to be ending it so soon...I've been writing this for over a year, man. With summer break coming up soon, I'll be able to finish it much faster. Thanks to all of you who are sticking with my awful updates, and please review when you get the time!**

_No más lágrimas – _No more tears


	10. Sogni

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part X**

**Warnings: **Language  
**A/N: I LIED! /turns blue and grows a moustache/  
****About two things, actually. One, I obviously did not finish this chapter before school started. Two, this isn't the last chapter. One scene lasted much longer than I'd anticipated (which may or may not be a good thing, depending on how quickly we all want this to end). This would have gone up yesterday, but my mom and I moved out of our house and into a condo about a week and a half ago and we have no internet. I'm at my dad's house because I have homework that requires the internet, so yes. I have no idea when we're getting cable either...But enough of my self-pity; enjoy the chapter! **

* * *

He cleared his mind of all thoughts, knowing full well he was going to have trouble sleeping. They had researched and planned and prepped him, and within one week, he was deemed ready. Spain, however, knew that no amount of studying could make him feel the confidence he assumed he would need. He wanted to be prepared for this night, this one night that could determine if Lovino lived or died.

England, France, Prussia, and America's presence downstairs certainly didn't calm his nerves. They were there, England had supplied, "in case something happened." _Comforting. _The Brit had told him he would come up to check on him later on. He'd found some sort of spell that helped one focus in their sleep enough to control it and their own actions, as long as they didn't break the illusion of a dream. "If you do, it will simply startle you into consciousness," he'd explained. Spain sighed. In that case, there was no pressure. It all came down to how the hell he was supposed to find a way into Romano's mind and convince him to wake.

England cleared his throat, breaking Spain's concentration. "Remember, you git. Find the Romano in your dreams and _talk to him_. He should be able to lead you to the real Romano. But don't let him fool you into staying, or you may end up in a coma as well. He's just as lonely as Romano is, I'm sure. Just do what you can, and," he blushed a bit before muttering, "good luck."

Spain nodded, mind churning with all the extra complications, and lied down. He heard the lights flicker out and door close softly before he plunged into a spell-induced sleep.

oOoOo

A brush of wind swept through his hair, gently urging the Spaniard to wake. Spain's eyes snapped open and he sat immediately, taking in his surroundings. Tall grass and wild flowers incased him and tickled his senses, vivid pinks, purples, and greens gracing his vision. The sound of trickling water nearby caused him to stand. He frowned when he looked up—the sky was completely white. _How weird,_ he thought, but shook it off. It was a dream, and he knew how strange dreams could get. At least this one seemed peaceful.

He made his way towards where he assumed the water was when he saw a small figure by the bank, drawing underneath a nearby tree. Their back was towards him, but he could make out auburn locks and a single flyaway curl. He warmed at the sight.

"Lovi!"

The boy turned. Spain's smile dropped.

"Ve, ciao, Spain! What are you doing here?" a bright Feliciano chirped. Spain paused. _This is weird. What's Feli doing here? Could it be an effect of the spell?_

Italy jumped up, dropping his sketchbook, and ran over to him. Spain accepted a hug, half-heartedly returning it. It was nice seeing him, but he had much more important things to deal with at the moment. "Hola, Feli. Can you tell me where Lovi is?"

The young Italian's face contorted in adorable confusion. "Who?"

"Lovi…Lovino. Your brother," he replied hesitantly.

Italy giggled, nuzzling Spain's chest affectionately. "Silly Spain! What are you talking about? I don't have a brother!"

Spain's heart sunk and he began to panic. _What the hell is going on? England didn't tell me about anything like this! How am I supposed to find Lovi if he's not he—_

He suddenly found Feliciano's face much closer than he felt comfortable with. Frightened, he shoved him back. Italy tilted his head, a worried look painting his features. "What's wrong, Spain? Don't you want me anymore?"

For reasons he himself was unsure of, Spain glared angrily at Italy. What was he trying to pull? He wasn't about to let this dream fool him. "I'm not fucking around, Feli. I have no clue what you're talking about, but where is Romano?" he demanded.

Italy flinched visibly at his harsh tone. "Spain…please don't yell like that; I'm sorry. We can talk this over, _mio amore,_ and—"

"_Mio amore?_ Feli, we're not…_Lo siento_. I like you, but not like that. And I'm sorry for snapping at you, but I really, _really_ need to see your brother." Spain calmed a little, sobered by Italy's heartbroken expression.

Feliciano stayed silent. It took Spain a moment to realize the look of sadness was changing. The Italian's lips twisted into a nasty sneer, his eyes narrowing deeply. And the color…Soft caramel paled to rich olive, flecks of flaming hazel circling the irises.

"Lovi…"

Romano turned and ran back to the tree, took one pleading look at Spain, and jumped over the edge.

"Wait!" Spain called, running after him. He looked over the grassy ledge, where he expected to see a creek of some sort. Instead, there lied a pool of thick silver, churning and winding and draining into a sky-blue ditch in the center. Spain swallowed nervously. He had to follow Romano. _Dios, Lovi, couldn't we have stayed here? And why in the world did you pretend you were Feli?_

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and jumped.

oOoOo

Spain blinked, dazed. Sunlight warmed his body, but thankfully something was shading his face. Romano was standing over him, one critical eyebrow raised.

"What the hell are you doing? Get up and help me with these tomatoes, ya lazy bastard!" Romano scolded, standing back and letting the sun properly blind the Spaniard.

Spain sat up slowly, the uncomfortable feeling of lying on the hard, dirt ground seeping into his spine and lower back. And then he simply stared at Romano.

His Romano, here in the tomato fields, whining and complaining and insulting him, secretly enjoying their accidental touches and the mere fact that they were together. This was what he missed the most. It was peaceful, quiet; the problems of their homes or the world not able to pierce the serenity. Just the two of them.

If he didn't get Romano back, he could never feel that peace again.

"H-hey, bastard, I…I didn't mean it, y-you can rest if you want…d-don't cry…" Romano said uneasily, dropping to his knees and awkwardly placing a hand on Spain's shoulder.

Spain wiped away his tears. This all felt too real. He had to get his Romano back, but he couldn't startle this one.

"Don't worry about me, Lovi…S-say, um…Could you take me into your mind?"

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Romano growled, drew his fist back, and swung. Where Spain expected to feel a sting in his cheek as he'd felt before on his back, he felt…nothing. He knew it should have hurt. _Dammit…I'm becoming too aware of my dreams now. I have to hurry._

"Lovi, that hurt!" he whined, feigning pain, and even letting a tear spring forth. Romano glared and picked up the tomato basket, starting to walk away. "Lovino, wait! _Lo siento_, come back!"

Romano stopped. Shoulders shaking, he turned towards Spain. "Why should I? You're just going to leave me, and you know it! Why can't you just stay with me and pretend this is real?" His voice softened to a whisper. "I can be just like your Romano."

Spain's heart was torn in two. How was he supposed to deny Romano? Sure, this was a different one, but they were completely identical. So much so that it hurt. What could he do? He had to find some way to appeal to him. Wherever this Romano had come from, he was stuck in Spain's dreams alone.

_Is mi Lovinito alone too?_ he wondered. Romano stared at him strangely as he got lost in his own thoughts. His demeanor became sour once again. "Oi, _bastardo_, what are you thinking so hard about?" he huffed, folding his arms.

Spain blinked. Could he be right? He had no real proof, but if his assumptions were true…

"Romano." Said Italian frowned at the use of his country name. "What if…what if there's a Spain for you too?" Spain moved closer, tilting his head hopefully.

"What the hell are you talking about? You're crazy."

"Wait! I mean, you're here, in my dreams, so who's to say there isn't a Spain in Romano's head?" he tried to reason. Even if he was bidding him to take him to Romano, he truly hoped there would be someone waiting for this one. No variation of the Italian deserved to be lonely.

Romano's interest was piqued; Spain could tell. The way his eyes widened and quickly trained themselves to the ground, the way his shoulders lifted, the way one shoe scuffed the dirt nervously. It was all too familiar. "You're just saying that so I'll take you. Don't get my hopes up, jerk."

"No, Lovi, I'm not! I promise!" Spain relented. "I really want you to be happy. I always want you to be happy." With that, he smiled gently and took one of Romano's hands. "I swear you won't be alone."

A radiant blush settled on the younger brunet's face, but he didn't pull away. "H-how can you be so sure, bastard?"

"I can't," Spain shrugged. Other Romano looked up in surprise and irritation, only succeeding in causing the Spaniard to laugh. "You're just going to have to trust me."

His next words were mumbled so quietly that Spain wondered if they had been his imagination. "But what if you're wrong?"

Well, what if he was wrong? What was Spain supposed to do then? He couldn't lie and say he would stay. But…he couldn't be wrong. He vaguely remembered strong arms that resembled his own, holding Romano, dragging him back into the depths of a deep sleep… "I'm not wrong. He was there; I saw him!"

"I know he's there."

…_What?_

"Dammit, I know. I just…I just wanted to see if you would…what you would do…"

"But why didn't you go back to him sooner if you can do that? He must be waiting for you, you should have—"

"Don't you think I fucking know that?" Other Romano snapped, his eyes watering in a pitiful rage. "It would have been useless even if I could, Spain. How the hell do you think Romano would react to that? You think he would be happy to see the other Spain and me together? _I couldn't_. The minute Romano left your 'empire,' your hearts grew distant and I was forced to stay with you. Other Spain has been reacting violently within Romano's mind since, trying to make him realize he was miserable without you or some shit. When Romano died he tried to help him as best he could, and he still is. Guilty conscience or something. He couldn't even come to terms with the fact that Romano was an adult when he first saw him again. The last he'd been able to see him was when he was a kid—After that, he didn't _want _to watch Romano change." Frustration and sorrow quelled the anger in his tone, a thin blanket on the flames. The real Spain and Romano had no idea what they'd been through. These embodiments, the subconscious connections of their love and souls, could only see each other from a distance. Not since Romano's parting words from the empire had they touched or laughed together. Although they desperately wanted to be with one another, their hearts were no longer intertwined. Too much bitterness. Too many grudges and unanswered questions.

The biggest question, of course, the one Spain asked himself nearly every day, was _Why?_ Why had Romano left him all those years ago? Did he feel Spain weakening? Why wasn't his home—always open to the Italian—good enough? Spain knew these questions were unfair, but that did not stop the Spain in Romano's head from plaguing him with them. He _wanted_ Romano to need Spain. To care too much about how he felt and what he said; to love him overwhelmingly. He had gotten what he wanted, Romano's embodiment thought scathingly. _The idiot._

"I, for one, didn't want you to suffer. Of course you missed him and wanted him back, but I never interfered with your thoughts or dreams until Romano died." At this, he blushed. "I know the dreams I gave you were too goddamn simple and random to give you any clues, but I'm not used to manipulation. I did what I could, and…w-well I…"

Spain nodded encouragingly. "You what?"

Dream Romano turned away in embarrassment. "I was too afraid to talk to you. The other Spain is a lot more straightforward than I am, not to mention loves manipulating and confusing people."

A flash of anger ignited in Spain. This other Spain had been purposefully making Romano suffer? It was unforgiveable. He would find him; he would protect his Romano…But he realized something with a start.

"He…he's how I used to be, isn't he…?"

Romano nodded slowly, watching with remorse as Spain slumped to the ground, ignoring the cloud of dirt that was kicked up as he did so.

He didn't want it to be true. They'd told him it wasn't his fault Romano had taken his own life, but was that all there was to it? Could he help his past feelings? His personality? Spain always tried to forget who he'd been; young, foolish, selfish, bloodthirsty. It didn't suit him now. He'd had no idea it could affect Romano so much—that was his deepest regret.

"_Lovinito…Lo siento, _I'm so sorry_…_" he mumbled, covering his face with his hands.

He heard a soft _thump!_ and lifted his head to find a hand clumsily placed there. Romano smiled sadly.

"You need to let your Romano know that you have your own weaknesses. I get it now." The hand slid down through Spain's curls to his cheek, a gentle touch that warmed him considerably. "I…I'm sorry for trying to get you to stay here. I just miss him so fucking much but I couldn't go without you, a-and I'm still scared…"

"I guess I have to…But what is it that you're afraid of?" Spain asked, touching the hand against his cheek.

Romano buried his face in the Spaniard's shoulder so suddenly that he jumped, but the younger man didn't seem to notice. "_Him._"

Spain pulled him closer comfortingly. He hoped he could do this with the real, more irritable Italian soon. "Why are you afraid of him? Did he hurt you, _cariño?_" he asked with genuine concern.

"N-no! Of course not, dumbass. I just…" He blushed again and shook his head. "What…what if he doesn't love me anymore…?" he managed to mutter, hiccupping at the end.

The sudden noise that escaped Spain's throat at that moment surprised the both of them. It was a deep, rich laugh, full of affection and sureness. One he hadn't let out in far too long.

"Oh, Lovi, don't even _think_ about worrying over that. He would never stop loving you. _I_ would never stop loving you."

Romano's eyes widened. "I…d-dammit…" Face fully on fire, he gave Spain a quick peck on the forehead before standing. "Let's go," he mumbled as the Spaniard beamed a decade's worth of sunlight at him.

* * *

**A/N: Unless I change plans again, the **_**next**_** chapter will be the last. But who knows. I go off on things sometimes. Just a question for all of you: Is there anything you still feel I should clear up more? I've explained most of what I wanted to explain about the "other" Spain and Romano, but if you're still confused by something, let me know. I'm far from experienced with writing, so I would appreciate any helpful feedback to know where I stand with reader comprehension. I obviously know what's going on and I want to make sure you do too (to a certain extent, of course). If it's something you're not supposed to know or understand or something I'm going to explain later, though, I'll let you know. Thanks for reading, favoriting, and subscribing! I would love and appreciate any reviews as if they were my own grandchildren. I will, in fact, bake them internet cookies.**


	11. Insieme

**L'Italia di Lovino  
****Part XI**

**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Language

**Final chapter. Well, I've been writing this for two years (as I'm sure I've already mentioned), and it has been a long two years. To be honest, I didn't start putting a lot of my own emotion into this story until later on. At some points, it was hard for me to write a happy ending. But a happy ending is what I wanted and what I promised, and I did my best with it. The amount of people talking to me about this story outside of FF has continuously amazed me, and I thank each and every one of you for your kind words. Thank you to everyone who has fav'd, reviewed, and subscribed to this story, and even just read it. You guys really make my day. I hope you enjoy this last chapter.**

**Music: Coldplay - Paradise**

* * *

They sat in abysmal silence, each lacking any comforts. In all honesty, England had no idea whether this Romano in Spain's dreams held any significance whatsoever, but he was hopeful. What else could he do for them?

At last, he cleared his throat. "America, cut that out! It's giving me a headache."

Said nation paused in drumming his fingers on Spain's kitchen table. He smirked and brought his other hand up, beating his palms on the smooth, marble surface. England reached across the table and slammed his hands upon America's, effectively silencing them.

"Aww, why didn't you just say you wanted to hold hands?" America chuckled as England turned red and tried to pull back, but the youth was faster and grabbed his wrists. England looked up to shout at his former brother, but he clamped his mouth shut at America's suddenly serious expression. "Iggy, chill. If this doesn't work out, it's not your fault. Whatever happens is up to them," America said, never taking his eyes off of England's.

"He's right, you know," France added from the other end of the table. "We can only hope Spain will find the right words and Romano's willing to listen."

"I know that!" England snapped, squeezing America's hand, at which France and Prussia snorted. "It's quite obvious how dull the Spaniard can be, and I'm just concerned for that poor Italian."

Prussia leaned over the table, pointing an accusing finger at the Brit. "Hey, have some faith in the guy! He loves that boy; we all know it, and God knows _he_ should know it by now, too! Just give him time. Toni's the country of passion and all, but he's not as awesome at romance as I am," he said, pounding his fist on the abused table every so often for emphasis.

They each nodded in agreement (sans the last sentence) when a loud _click!_ made them jump.

"Did someone call another guest?" France raised an eyebrow. Each nation shook their head.

"Don't worry, guys, the hero will go check it out!" America declared, racing out of the kitchen. The remaining men cast inquisitive glances towards the entrance until he returned, a young, dark-haired boy in hand.

"Uh…hey."

"It's that Philippines kid, sneaking around again! Did you come in through the window?"

"No! …Yes…Maybe…" Carlito muttered, looking like a child caught stealing candy. Prussia howled with laughter and yelped when France elbowed him in the ribs. "Why couldn't I come here with you guys? I'm in on it, right?" he continued. He had been upset when America had told him to stay home. Why did it matter? It wasn't like _he_ was in any danger.

England frowned. "I'm sorry, Philippines. We wanted as little here as possible. Myself for the spell, of course, France and Prussia for Spain, and America for…" he paused, shifting his gaze to the American. "Wait, why _are_ you here?"

"Because I planned this!"

"No, you didn't! _I _did!"

"Well, I took charge. Besides, you guys need some muscle. What if some crazy assassin waltzes in to get rid of poor Romano for good?" America reasoned.

"I've got plenty of muscle…" Prussia huffed, not bothering to try to prove it.

England squeezed his eyes shut and kneaded his temples. "God, I can't believe I'm saying this, but…maybe…you might actually have a point…sort of…" America grinned triumphantly.

"Right! Well, now that you're here, you might as well stay. But you really should listen to me!" he said, patting Carlito's back roughly. "So why do you keep coming in through the window? It makes you seem more suspicious."

"I'm used to it…Mexico does it all the time!" Carlito chirped, taking a seat on a stool. America flinched but said nothing else.

"Ah, but _cher_, I was wondering…Is there a reason you want to be here so badly?" France inquired. He rested his chin on one hand as all eyes turned to the Filipino. Carlito fidgeted under their gazes.

"Well…you know…I want to see what happens, and…" He couldn't tell them what Romano admitted all those years ago. It wouldn't feel right—all the thoughts and feelings he had confessed, trusted to the younger male for whatever reason. Maybe he was only a victim of circumstance—not that he was a victim—and Romano didn't think anything of him. Carlito happened to be there and he was willing to listen, and maybe that was all Romano needed. Maybe he really didn't have to be here for him. He had Spain, after all, but that didn't make the Filipino feel any less obligated to stay. He wanted this to work—whether he disliked Spain or not, he didn't deserve to be left in the dark, and neither did Romano. Carlito wanted to say this, but he couldn't find the words without betraying the Italian's life story. "I'm worried that Spain's gonna mess up, so…yeah," he finished lamely.

England threw his hands in the air. "See? I'm not the only one!"

The room lit up in hushed conversations—lackadaisical topics to keep their minds off the silent battle going on just above them. France leaned towards Carlito, lowering his voice. "I know why you're really worried," he said.

"What are you talking about?"

The blond smiled and shook his head. "You know how I was always going after Romano when Spain first took custody of him, right? I used to see you two talking. Don't worry; I never knew what you were talking about. I could tell it was important, so I stayed out of it." He placed a reassuring hand on Carlito's shoulder. The Filipino started at the touch (he knew of France's reputation, of course), making the Frenchman laugh. Another hand clamped suddenly upon France's, gripping it tightly.

"France, I swear to God, if you try anything on Phili…" America started dangerously.

"Oh, but he's so cute! I can't help it!" France grinned, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture.

America clenched his fists but relaxed when Carlito leaned back into him subconsciously. "I can take him, Kuya!" he said confidently.

"Hah, I know. You were taught by me, after all!" America laughed.

Carlito made a sound of agreement before turning back to France. "But wait, if you knew, why did you ask why I was here?"

Easing back into his chair, France closed his eyes momentarily. "I wanted to make sure you were serious about this, and I was right. Romano chose a good listener."

oOoOo

There was something different about his surroundings.

Romano frowned as he cast his eyes ahead to—could he call it a sky? He thought he saw a pinprick of black, like a star in a negative photo. "Hey, Pirate Bastard. Do you see that dot up there, or am I just going insane?"

"Hmm?" Spain paused in petting Romano's hair. He was sitting cross-legged, the Italian lying on his back with his head in the pirate's lap. Romano had finally begun to trust and grow used to him, and with the lack of resistance, Spain's attitude had turned rather docile and affectionate. In truth, Romano no longer cared. He had nothing to prove, and his pride had concealed itself in some secluded section of his heart, cold and unneeded. He wasn't happy, but he was no longer hysteric.

Spain was afraid he'd given up hope.

"Ah, that? That's the connection." He smiled. "I pray you're ready. It's quite close."

"Ready? For what?" Romano scowled as his attention turned to the Spaniard. He did not reply, however, and only continued to thread his fingers through soft auburn hair. "Fucker, don't ignore me!"

Those gentle fingers suddenly gripped his hair like a vice, and Romano cried out in pain. He turned to yell at the pirate until he saw his shocked expression.

"You…" Spain said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Spain!" a new voice called. _A new voice._ A voice that sounded peculiarly like his own, attached to a body identical to his, who called that name in a way he always lacked the courage to try…This new voice barreled towards them, pulling Spain into a clumsy hug. Romano jumped away from the exchange, dumbfounded. What the fuck was going on?

He was too afraid to look. He knew there was someone else there, someone who had arrived here with that Romano look-alike. The figure haunted his vision in the corner of his eye, garnering his attention. It was _him_, he was well aware, but he just couldn't bear to see—

"Lovi."

"No…"

"Lovino, look at me."

"No! Go away, this is just another one of your damn tricks! Pirate Bastard, stop—"

"I'm not a trick! Please, listen." Romano finally allowed himself to take the Spaniard in. He looked so…tired. A feeling he was certain mirrored his own. His lack of sleep was apparent with the heavy bags under his eyes, and his skin had paled considerably. It frightened Romano—the fact that Spain could look so human, yet so inhuman. "I came to wake you," he said hopefully.

_Christ, this is real,_ Romano thought, trying to push down the insistent fluttering in his chest. He wanted to shove Spain away and jump into his arms. He wanted to scream at him to leave and beg for him to stay. He wanted…

_Do I even _want_ to wake up?_

The question was unexpected. Of course he wanted to live again. He was miserable here; he regretted his mistake and he wanted to go back…Back to what? Back to being spited and ignored? Back to enduring his status as the shadow of his brother, the hollow shell of his grandfather, the time Spain had wasted? What had he really lost?

"Why should I come back?" Romano struggled not to let his voice crack. "Nobody misses me. They'll all forget about me eventually!" His tears betrayed him. A look of sympathy crossed the Spaniard's features, but Romano didn't want that. Spain took a step forward. Romano took one back.

"That's not true. Feliciano couldn't hold himself together. Seborga couldn't understand how you could do this to yourself. Belgium is devastated. Phili is desperate for you to come back. Hell, _America_ misses your constant rants. Lovino, you have a bigger influence on the world than you think."

_Rrriiiip!_

A loud tear echoed around them, but Spain did not falter. Romano couldn't breathe.

"Lovino…I'm sorry about what I said. I don't know what I was thinking. I would never want you to change yourself!" With each sentence came a resounding tear that left a black streak in the sky, scathing his perfect isolation. Spain was getting closer.

"When I asked Austria to trade Feliciano for you, it was a mistake. I hadn't taken the time to get to know you. I understood that the more time I spent with you. My adorable, angry little lackey…" A new sense of strength seemed to overwhelm him and his strides became longer; faster. "I decided I never wanted to give you up. So I fought for you, even when I knew it was hurting my country. It killed me when you left. I was happy for you and Feliciano to finally have your own country, but my house was so big and empty without you. And I realized something."

Romano stared blankly at the Spaniard, now only inches away, his eyes bleary. Spain reached to brush away a tear, then brought both hands to gently cup Romano's face. "I can't live without you, Lovino."

He couldn't take this. "That's not—"

Before he could protest, Spain leaned in and pressed his lips to Romano's. It was short and soft, but the Italian couldn't think. His knees went weak. A spark lit the tips of his lips and shot down his throat, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. A choke threatened to beat down his self-control, but even through his lack of perception, Romano managed to calm the unsettling feeling into an oddly pleasant warmth.

"I love you." The simple yet powerful phrase was said so quietly that Romano wondered if he had imagined it. Spain smiled weakly as Romano opened his mouth to respond. Then the world collapsed.

One final rip tore the white prison apart. Spain pulled Romano into his arms instinctively, and the younger wept into his support.

"I love you so much, I can't stand it. I need you; I'm a mess without you," Spain said, his voice straining over the din of destruction. Romano's pride had long returned, begging him to pull back. _Keep away from the heartbreak, from what brought you here in the first place…Next time it'll only hurt more._

Romano pried his overflowing eyes open only for the other Romano to catch them. He clung to the pirate but gave Romano a steady look. _Pride is what brought you here, idiot. Remember—you did this to yourself._ He blinked at the voice that was his but was not coming from his own thoughts. How easy it would be to fight what he knew, to contradict himself. To follow that stubbornness until his will crumbled. But he didn't. He was sick of ignoring the swelling warmth he'd felt when Spain said he'd loved him, _loved him_, not as a henchman or brother but as a man. He was done fighting. Pride be damned; this was what he was waiting for. He wrapped his arms around Spain like a lifeline.

The pirate Spain smiled at the silent "Thank you" sent his way. "This is your second chance," he said, stepping back with the other Romano.

Romano watched as the pair before them seemed to disintegrate. Spain held him tighter as the final pillar came crashing down, wiping them from consciousness.

oOoOo

It was silent, as he was used to, but a different silent. It wasn't a deadly, hopeless silent. There was a comforting quiet surrounding him, little muffles of hushed household sounds barely grazing his ears. The ticks of a grandfather clock in the hallway, loud whispers downstairs, early birds taking their rounds. All familiar yet so distant, so long ago, so _missed_. Romano never realized how much he missed these stupid, mundane sounds.

His body screamed in protest when he tried to sit up. About a month of inactivity had obviously caught up with him. But why was it so damn dark? Judging by the birds, it should have been early morning. He began to panic. What if he'd gone blind, or his eyes had sealed shut in his sleep, or—

He suddenly felt a rough but gentle hand on top of his, gripping and squeezing as if it could disappear at any moment.

"Romano." The Italian jumped at the sound of his name being spoken in heavily accented Spanish. "Romano, open your eyes."

_Oh._ Romano felt his cheeks warm.

Slowly, painfully, his lashes parted to the beautiful smile of a Spaniard who loved him more than anything.

"Welcome back, _mi amor._"

* * *

**A/N: There will be an epilogue with Spain and Romano, and a requested separate one-shot with Carlito and the "doll man." I'm throwing Mexico in there too. Just because. Once again, thank you for sticking with my drought-like updates, and I hope you enjoy my future fics as well. I have big plans.**


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